


Night of the Hunter - Sequel to Song of the Reaper

by Jenshih_Blue



Category: CW Network RPF
Genre: Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, M/M, Multi, Murder, Non Consensual, Other, Rape/Non-con References, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-02
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2017-11-23 09:52:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 25
Words: 72,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/620818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenshih_Blue/pseuds/Jenshih_Blue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been two years since Jared woke from a coma, the result of a failed murder attempt. He and Jensen are together in the real world now, but there are things they both need to work through before they can commit to one another. Especially, Jared who feels he’ll never deserve the man he loves because of the secrets he's been keeping.</p><p>Relocated to Boston, Jensen has partnered with ex-FBI Profiler and former LAPD detective Misha Collins, thousands of miles from where he avenged the man he loves more than life itself. Life is good, but he knows there are issues both he and Jared need to face before their relationship can progress further.</p><p>Just when things are looking up, FBI Profiler, Samantha Smith shows up on Jensen’s doorstep with a proposition. A serial killer dubbed the Hunter by the media is stalking the streets of Boston and she believes he along with Jared can help catch the bastard before he kills again. One problem though—she and Misha were partners years before in the BSU. He tells Jensen she can’t be trusted and she doesn’t want Misha too involved. </p><p>Jensen wants no part of what Agent Smith is selling, but the Hunter has other plans...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to 'Song of the Reaper' written for the 2011 spn_j2_bigbang so I'd suggest reading that one first before starting 'Night of the Hunter'. 'Night of the Hunter' picks up two years after the conclusion of 'Song of the Reaper'
> 
> Inspired by the song 'Night of the Hunter' recorded by 30 Second to Mars
> 
> This one is for Winnie and all the other readers who begged for more in this particular AU verse. Hope you enjoy!

 

 

Yellow tape fluttered in the frost-laden autumn night, eerie sway surrounding a full block radius. Rain dappled the entire scene, crystalline drops reflecting the crimson and blue lights of police and emergency vehicles. Voices and radio static filled the normally peaceful neighborhood, backed up by a distant chorus of sirens as more personnel arrived on one of the most horrifying scenes Boston PD had witnessed in decades.

Along slick pavement, tires squealing, a black SUV arrived, passenger door swinging open before it came to a halt. Light as a feather the passenger disembarked swish of dark trench and click of boot heels on the damp concrete adding to the cacophony of the scene. She made a beeline through the crowd toward the center of chaos, silent as she flashed identification. Around her an occasional officer or EMT lifted their head to stare as she passed until confronted by the harsh blue of eyes, shadowed by the thick sway of blonde hair.

Up ahead an officer tumbled out of the alley, pushing past with a gagging noise. Her mouth quirked up at the realization of his youth, he was young enough for his shoes to squeak. Was I ever that innocent? She wondered pushing through the milling crowd of gawkers. The answer was probably, but it had been years—hell decades—since his type of innocence had clung to her like cheap perfume on a five-dollar whore.

At the back of the alley, she noted the makeshift tent arranged around the center of chaos, occasional camera flashes lighting the interior. It reminded her of a Chinese lantern except there was no beauty to this. She was damn sure the scene hidden from view was going to be a bitch to process if it were as elaborate as the last two. At the open flap of the tent, she was confronted by a tall, slim African American man with eyes as dark as the night, Boston PD badge displayed with pride on his chest. Before he could speak a woman’s voice drifted from inside.

“Let her through, Officer Hodge.”

“Sure thing, Doc.” he eyed her as she swept past, suspicion clear as day in his stormy expression. “Anything you say.”

Inside the sickly sweet stench of death filled the space; a scent she’d become used to over the years something she wasn’t all together comfortable with to be honest. Death was an inevitable part of life true, but it didn’t mean a person should accept any comfort from its presence.

“Vapor-rub, Agent Smith?”

Smith accepted the small tin the other woman thrust at her, distracted by the gruesome display spread out before her. She might be used to it, but the world around her wasn’t and the last thing she needed were more looks. She discovered being a part of the BSU her gift was something the world needed even if it gave rise to twisted and morbid misconceptions.

“Dr. Cohan, I presume.” She handed back the tin as pale green eyes met hers.

Bright crimson lips stretched in a humorless smile. “Lauren is fine, Dr. Cohan is my father.” She turned back to the body, stripping off her bloody latex gloves and disposing of them in the portable biohazard bin. “Estimated time of death was between midnight and two am last night. Cause of death seems to be excessive blood loss although I’ll have to get her back to the morgue to be positive. So, what do you think—another one of his?”

“ID on the victim yet?”

“Nothing positive, but Detective Fuller ran a search on any recent missing person reports in the past week matching the criteria of the previous two victims. There was a hit. Three days ago a college student went missing.” She reached in her breast pocket and pulled out a notepad flipping it open. “Leighton Meester, 25.”

Smith squatted down, taking in what remained of the latest victim, body posed with a loving touch. It was impossible to tell the age until they had a positive identification on her, but the previous two were female between 22 and 25 years old, both natural red heads. This one, skinned as carefully as the last, her skin washed and folded then sealed in plastic next to the body. Her arms spread wide as if in welcome to a lover, white tea light candles placed in each upturned palm, scattering of tuberose blossoms over the body and the surrounding ground. The flowers’ sweet fragrance did nothing to hide the stench of blood they only made the odor more maddening.

She stood and wiped her palms along her thighs as if wiping away blood, although she’d touched nothing. “Rape kit will be positive, post-mortem vaginal penetration. Sodomized prior to death with a foreign object, traces of GHP and alcohol in the blood, and the heart removed. The chest closed up with silk thread and when you cut the stitches, you will find a Ziploc bag of gold coins where the heart was. You won’t find any DNA evidence.”

Cohan raised a dark eyebrow. “I’m guessing that’s a yes.”

Turning from the scene, Smith headed for the tent’s opening without another word.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to my work schedule I'm posting this one day early. Enjoy folks!

October in Boston was a far cry from Los Angeles. Jensen preferred the changing seasons and the surprising weather. After fourteen months in Bean Town, Southern California and all the bullshit it entailed seemed a distant memory although nightmares were not unheard of on any given night.

Guiding his baby into the underground parking facility beneath the downtown office complex, he came to a stop next to his partners’ blue Toyota Hybrid—a Prius. He snorted before he could stop himself as he locked up the Impala with loving hands, activating the alarm. Misha regularly fussed at him about driving what he considered a gas-guzzling world destroyer not to mention too damn a conspicuous ride for a private dick. On the other hand, Jared loved his baby and that counted more than any other opinion.

He juggled a tray of coffee and the morning paper as he took the elevator to the sixth floor to disembark into what he’d never imagined he’d be the boss of—a busy office filled with people. At the massive semi-circular desk, Sandy and Alona answered phones, Sandy operating as his personal assistant and Alona as Misha’s assistant. As partners, Misha and he were amazing in their compatibility, but their lifestyles were questionable to say the least. Jensen often teased him, complaining the older man had been born in the wrong era, a hippy with no commune. He was a vegetarian (most of the time) recycled religiously, and did yoga positions in his office that should be illegal in all fifty states if they weren’t already.

Sandy glanced up with a wide smile and sparkling eyes. “Hey, boss man, you’ve got a visitor waiting in your office.”

“Thought my schedule was clear until this afternoon.” He paused, setting down the coffee tray.

“It was, but Ms. Ice Queen wasn’t taking no for an answer.” Alona chirped snatching a coffee. “I’d wear a protective cup if you’re going in there. She looks like a ball buster.”

Jensen raised an eyebrow and chuckled. “She’s got to catch me first before she busts them.” He turned back to Sandy with a wink. “So, you get a name?”

Eyes rolling, Sandy held up one finger as she punched a flashing button on the switchboard. “AC Investigations, Sandy speaking how may I direct your call? No, Mr. Collins is in a meeting right now. Would you like his voicemail? Thank you.” She popped her coffee lid and took a sip before gathering her wits with an orgasmic moan.

“Name?”

“Oh, yeah,” her smile shifted to a smirk, “FBI.”

“Fuck me.” He mumbled.

“I think Jared might take affront to me doing that.” Her laughter was musical as she leaned back in her chair. “By the way speaking of Jay—Jim’s going to pick him up at the physical therapist this afternoon. Said he’d come back with a late lunch for the crew.”

Jensen’s smile slipped. It had been what seemed forever and Jared still relied on a cane although the physical therapist said it was unnecessary. Jensen understood better than anyone else did what Jared had been through, even so he wanted him to improve, quit relying on something he didn’t need. If he needed a crutch, Jensen was there both physically and mentally. That was what love was about—support.

As he turned to head for his office, Sandy blocked his path. “Look, I know what you’re thinking. Jay needs time. You both do, you’ve been through a lot.”

“Sandy, I can’t do this right now.”

She stepped in close, voice almost inaudible over the chaos of the space around them. “I know, Jensen, I know everything. We’ll talk later.” Pulling away, she pressed her lips to his cheek in a gentle kiss. “Now go get her, tiger.”

Jensen was damn sure he knew what Sandy wanted to talk about and it wasn’t something he wanted to discuss—not now or ever. What was between Jared and he was private, and he wanted it to stay that way. Of course, Sandy wasn’t about to back off anytime soon. Taking a breath, he nodded as she stepped out of his way then headed for his office. Maybe facing a ball buster wasn’t so bad considering he already knew one.

 

As Jensen approached his office, he frowned, raised voices reaching his ears. One voice an unfamiliar female, but the other he knew as well as his own—Misha.

“Jesus Christ, you have your nerve!”

“Damn it, Misha, do you think I would be here if there was any other option. I know how you feel about me, but this isn’t about personal feelings!”

“You think you know how I feel? I doubt that you heartless cunt!”

Jensen pushed the door open nearly catching his partner in the face. “Shit, sorry, Misha.”

“Whatever!” He stormed past vanishing down the hall, wake of fury in his path.

With a shrug, he let the door swing shut behind him as he turned to face the woman in question. She was tall the heels she wore adding a couple of inches, dressed in dark blue denim that hugged her curves and black turtleneck beneath a black leather trench. Clipped to the belt at her waist was a badge and as she stepped forward, he caught a glimpse of the side arm beneath her coat. He glanced up and met a pair of ice-blue eyes beneath neatly coifed short blonde hair.

“So, I’m guessing you know my partner, miss…”

“Agent…Agent Samantha Smith with the BSU and you must be Misha’s partner Jensen.” She held out one gloved hand.

He wasn’t sure what had happened in his office, but he was damned certain it had something to do with Misha’s time with the FBI. Furthermore, he’d be betting it had more to do with why he’d left the FBI. After sizing Agent Smith up, he accepted the offered hand with a firm grip of his free one.

“I’d say it was a pleasure to meet you, Agent Smith, but I’m guessing this isn’t a social call. Besides you pissed off my business partner and I have a problem with that.” He released her hand and stepped around, heading to the desk overlooking the city. “I’d like an explanation.”

“Then ask Misha.”

The remaining coffee settled on the desk with the paper, he turned back to face her. “I’m asking you, lady.” His tone went cold. “You don’t come into my office and upset my partner unless I allow it—got it?”

The corner of her mouth quirked up in a half smile. “What they say about you is true then, Mr. Ackles.”

Ankles crossed, Jensen leaned against his desk allowing his jacket to fall open flashing his own sidearm. “And what exactly do they say about me?”

She reached up and brushed an errant strand of hair over one ear, smile gone as quick as it had appeared. “That you’re no nonsense, hardcore, and a tough customer to deal with. I get why Robert Cortese met his Waterloo at the end of your gun.”

Jensen was in her face so fast she didn’t have a chance to blink. “Don’t ever mention that son of a bitch’s name—you got me?”

Smith lifted her hands in surrender. “Got it—now can we get down to business?”

Backing up, his eyes never left her face. “What business do I have with the BSU? I already told you people I’m not interested in doing your dirty work.”

“You haven’t seen the morning paper I’m guessing.”

His gaze shifted to the folded paper on the desk, still in its plastic sleeve. “What about it? Did J. Edgar return from the grave to demand his position back?”

“They didn’t tell me you were a comedian as well.”

Walking around the desk, Jensen shucked his jacket, hanging it from the back of the chair and snatched the paper. “Have a seat, Agent Smith. I hope the trip was worth it.”

Her heels clicking across the marble floor reminded him of muffled gunshots as she made her way to the other chair facing his desk. Settled in his chair only after she seated herself, he slid the paper from the bag, and smoothed it out on the desk. A huge color photo of a crime scene covered the front page.

 

The Hunter Strikes, Again

 

Jensen raised one eyebrow as he looked up from the bold byline, “The Hunter? So they’ve named Hannibal Lecter junior.”

“Yes, and he deserves the comparison—he’s good—real fucking good, nothing left behind except what he wants. That press bitch, Carpenter, from the Herald is all over it and between her and that jackass, Marsters, from the Globe my bosses are up my ass. This entire thing is going to cause a panic like they haven’t seen since the Boston Strangler case.” She leaned back in the chair, arms folded in a defensive move. “I’m not above begging, Ackles. I need help, someone not associated with the Bureau to help nail this son of a bitch before this becomes a bigger bloodbath than it already is.”

She was serious and Jensen could hear it in her voice as he looked down at the paper; two murders committed in the past two weeks, both identical in nature, and bloody as hell if he believed the papers. This was the third. Misha had warned him the FBI would come knocking at their door eventually. He’d scoffed at the idea, but Misha had explained when the shit hit the fan the FBI had no qualms about recruiting outside the Bureau though they didn’t advertise it to the public. In his partners’ opinion, the shit was damn close to the fan and with all the publicity generated after LA, the FBI was watching.

“Why would you need help from me?”

Studying him with narrowed eyes, she exhaled. “Can we take a walk? I need a damned cigarette.”

“Fine, let’s go.”

 

 

A crisp wind rattled the leaves, sending them swirling across the sidewalks damp from the previous night’s storm as they walked through Boston Common skirting the Frog Pond. Neither of them had said much and although Jensen considered himself a busy man he was positive Misha and the others could handle the office for an hour or so.

“So, you were saying.” He mused lighting a cigarette.

Smith exhaled a cloud of smoke, staring across the water. “Your reputation precedes you, Mr. Ackles.”

“Jensen is fine.”

She acknowledged his comment with a sharp nod. “This killer is sending a message and although we have some damn good people on our team none of them want to look past the nose on their face for answers. You on the other hand have had experiences leaving you open to alternative avenues.”

“What are you getting at?”

Turning her gaze softened as it settled on him, “Your partner.”

“Misha?” he raised one eyebrow.

Laughter ghosted past her lips. “Not your business partner, your lover, Jensen.”

Anger flared in his eyes. “What the hell does Jared have to do with this?”

“You saved him, located his would-be killer, but how exactly?”

Jensen turned back to the pond. “Like any detective would—by following leads.”

“Is that all?”

Flinging the smoldering butt to the ground, Jensen ground it out with the heel of his boot. “What the hell are you insinuating?”

“Nothing.” she exhaled. “What I’m getting at is your partner helped you nail Cortese.”

Jensen snorted. “Jared was in a coma for six months, didn’t come out of it until three months after I put a hole in that bastard’s skull, lady.”

“I’m aware of that, but I also know there were some—let’s say—questionable things going on during your investigation. Things most people wouldn’t give any credence to, but I’m not most people.”

He turned to face her, frown firmly in place. “Look, I don’t have a clue what you’re rambling on about. I have a business to run, so if you’ll excuse me.”

As he turned to walk away, she spoke again. This time there was no subterfuge just straightforward knowledge. Knowledge Jensen knew there was no way she could be aware of in any sense of the word, except she was.

“I know Jared contacted you psychically while he was comatose. I also know you weren’t the only one, Jensen.”

He tried to move, but he couldn’t. It felt as if cement encased his feet.

“Jensen?”

“How could you know that?” his voice cracked.

“Because, I’ve experienced the same thing and I need to talk to Jared. The two of you may be the only way I have of catching this bastard.”


	3. Chapter 3

Jared sat at the window of the waiting room eyes focused on the sweeping green lawns dappled with autumn leaves, bushes neatly manicured and trees swaying in the wind. He had no desire to be here but until he gave up what his therapist considered more a mental crutch than a physical one he was stuck. Jensen said money was no object as had Sandy yet it wasn’t the money he was worried about. It wasn’t as if he didn’t have plenty of his own.

“Hey, Jaybird, how’s it hanging?”

He glanced up with a groan. “Are you ever going to get a new line, Ty?”

The smile Ty Olsson offered Jared was what Sandy would have called wickedly delicious. He winked as he leaned against the window, one hand lifting to scratch through his bristled brunette hair. “Depends on whether you ever answer it.”

“It’s hanging fine, asshole.” Rolling his eyes Jared shifted in his seat. “So is Devon my torturer today or is it you.”

Ty snorted. “Devon’s on the schedule this morning. I think she’s greasing the boss’ palm so she can spend time with you.”

“And why would she do that? She knows I’m gay.”

“Hope?” he shrugged and pushed off the glass. “Women sometimes think they can change guys. God only knows why.”

“Speaking of women…” Jared nodded toward the end of the corridor.

Ty turned with a wave as he spotted Devon striding toward them with a bright smile, ebony hair bouncing around her shoulders. She waved back as she slipped her bomber jacket off.

He turned back to Jared and winked again. “Give her a break today. We all know you don’t belong here and she needs you to quit jerking her around.”

Heading up the corridor, Ty offered Devon a high-five. She accepted with a loud laugh and then focused on Jared who was struggling up from his chair.

“Jaybird, how’s it hanging?”

“Jesus they need to discover a cure for Olsson. He’s starting to rub off and I had such high hopes for you.”

Devon’s laughter filled the corridor. “You give Ty more credit than he deserves.”

“How so?” he raised an eyebrow as he made his way to the therapy room, Devon at his side, and leaning heavily on his cane. “He seems to have the dirtiest mind in Boston.”

Devon looked up at him with warm brown eyes. “What makes you think I didn’t teach him how to be dirty?”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah, it is.”

 

Jensen had taken an hour extra, wandering among the stones of the Granary Burying Ground. He was fascinated with the place and the history it held, but more than that he found a calming power in the very ground he’d felt nowhere else. After an abrupt end to his impromptu meeting with Agent Smith, he needed the calm it provided.

How she’d known about what had happened in Los Angeles he couldn’t imagine. Of course, she could have been fishing and he’d taken the bait like a rank amateur. He could kick himself now he’d had time to think about it.

Stepping off the elevator, he headed toward his office and paused before turning around and heading for Misha’s instead. He stood outside the door for a few seconds before he knocked.

“Come in.”

Pushing open the door, Jensen sighed at the sight before him. Misha was a good man, of that he had no doubt, but it never ceased to amaze him how much anger lay buried beneath his skin. He stood staring out the window behind his desk, glass of bourbon in hand and looking worse for wear than usual.

“Little early for a drink—don’t you think?”

“Happy hour somewhere in the world.” he turned to face Jensen, eyes red-rimmed and face pale. “What can I help you with?”

Jensen crossed the room and took the glass from Misha’s hand. “First you can quit soaking your sorrows in booze and second you can set your ass down, fill me in on Agent Smith.”

Face pruning up, Misha let out a frustrated sigh. “Jensen, if you want that story you need to give me the bourbon back.”

“No can do, dude.” He tipped the glass back and swallowed the last of the liquor. “Now spill the beans before I have to start digging on my own.”

Misha settled into his chair, fingers tapping out a nervous rhythm on the blotter. “I’m sorry if I was rude earlier. Sam gets under my skin easier than anything else.”

Arms folded, Jensen leaned back in the chair taking in his expression. He had no doubt any longer this was about the last case his partner had worked as an agent. “This is about your wife—isn’t it?”

Breath hitching in his chest, Misha stood and began to pace. “Sam was assigned as my partner when we were hunting down Julie McNiven, although we didn’t know who she was at the time. Seemed the powers that be believed she had some specific insight into the perp and when I voiced doubts about working with her I was put in my place damn quick.”

“What doubts?”

He shook his head and glanced out the window with a bitter chuckle. “I looked into her file and she had one hell of a solve rate, but the pieces didn’t connect. After that, I started snooping a bit deeper. Turned out Sam had a master’s degree in criminal psychology, but the interesting bit was she also had studied parapsychology as an undergraduate at Stanford and she also had a bachelor’s in religious studies.”

“Parapsychology and religious studies, that’s an odd combination for an FBI agent.”

“I thought so as well. So I did some further poking and uncovered something. Sam had a twin sister Helena who died under suspicious circumstances when they were fourteen. Three years later her father was found dead as well and Sam was found setting calmly next to his body, bloody knife in her lap. The investigating officers believed at first she’d witnessed her father’s murder, but she insisted her sister had led her there—her dead sister. Then they started thinking maybe the father had killed Helena, Sam had witnessed it, and she’d taken vengeance on their father.”

Jensen frowned as he stood and joined him at the window. “Train of thought seems logical except I’m hearing a big ass but coming.”

“Sam had a solid alibi for the time of her father’s death. At least a hundred witnesses placed her at the high school that night where she was a part of a play presented by the drama department. Not only that, there was absolutely no DNA or evidence of any type at the crime scene.”

“That’s impossible.”

Misha snorted. “I thought the same so I looked up the lead investigator on the case, but he’d passed away a couple of years after the case. I thought I’d hit a dead end when I found Bobby Wisdom. He was the assistant investigator, fresh to the homicide division at the time and he confirmed everything; no footprints, fingerprints, DNA, you name it the scene was clean. According to him, that case was the reason the lead investigator died. He said that the man became obsessed with it to the point he neglected all else. He was forced to take some time off and the next thing they knew he was dead.”

“So, did she ever change her story?”

“Cops and her family sent her to a psychologist and eventually she told them she knew her father was meeting someone that night at the motel where they discovered his body. She told them she’d been worried when he wasn’t home by eleven so went to the motel. They never tracked down whoever called 911 from the pay phone at the motel, the connection was iffy at best, and odd as it seems the security cameras went down right before her father was killed—no explanation either.”

Jensen stared out the window not seeing the city below he was so lost in thought. He recalled what Agent Smith had told him at the Common and a shudder traveled through his body.

“Because, I’ve experienced the same thing and I need to talk to Jared. The two of you may be the only way I have of catching this bastard.”

He breathed deep turning to where Misha was pouring himself another glass of bourbon. “You didn’t believe her—did you?”

“No, I think she told them what they wanted to hear. Maybe she realized they were never going to believe the ghost of her dead sister led her there.”

“But what if she was telling the truth?”

He turned the expression in his eyes unreadable as he swallowed down the entire glass of bourbon in one shot. “After what happened in LA I’d believe it lock, stock, and barrel. Then I didn’t and it cost me my wife and child.”

 

Jensen had never believed in the supernatural until what had happened in LA. He still had a hard time believing, yet he couldn’t doubt his own senses. He’d seen Jared not only in front of him, but in his dreams as well. He hadn’t been the only one either. The phantom had appeared to Megan, Jared’s sister, and psychics Loretta and Traci. It had rocked Jensen’s world to the core, but Jared refused to talk about it. Left with no other option he’d started seeing a psychiatrist although he’d kept it a secret from everyone, including Jared.

Standing outside the office door that had become as familiar to him as his own front door, he tried to calm himself before he pushed it open. Behind the glass and metal desk, sat the one person he felt he was able to really open up to and that was sad.

“Good evening, Jensen.”

Dr. Cindy Sampson stood up with a smile, extending one perfectly manicured hand, and he accepted without hesitation as he did every time. He watched as she turned walking to the cabinet behind her desk.

“Have a seat. Would you like a drink?”

“Sure, Coke would be fine.” He settled in a plush leather chair across the room and sighed. “Being as I’m damn sure you haven’t got a bottle of whiskey handy.”

“I get the feeling you had a rough day.” Handing him a cold bottle she smiled as she sat in the chair opposite. “If you don’t mind…” she kicked off her heels and grinned, “I had a rough day as well.”

This was what he liked about Dr. Sampson, she was down to earth, not to mention blasé about the entire patient-doctor shit. She was willing to meet him in the evenings after he was sure she’d normally gone home, and there was no beating around the bush with her.

“So,” Cindy popped the cap of her own beverage and took a drink.

“Misha is flipping the fuck out and I don’t blame him in the least.” The words poured out on autopilot, flush creeping across his cheeks in a slow burn.

She studied him with a serious expression as she sat the bottle aside and pulled an elastic band from her wrist to sweep her dark hair into a ponytail. “That’s new. You’ve rarely talked about your business partner. Exactly why is he flipping out?”

“BSU made a visit today.” He eyed the label on the soda bottle, finger picking at the seam nerves on edge. “You remember what I told you about him.”

“Yes, I do. What did they want?”

“Not they…her…”

“Her?”

“Misha’s ex-partner, Samantha Smith, the one he worked with when…” he left the rest unsaid, glancing up through his lashes as she nodded.

“So what does this Agent Smith want?”

“She wants to meet Jared.”

“Why?”

That was the question of the day. He’d told Cindy about some of what happened in Los Angeles, but not all of it. He focused on an interesting swirl in the area rug beneath his feet. “Do you believe in the paranormal?”

“Yes.”

His head jerked up, mouth falling open in shock, as she laughed.

“Just because I’m a psychiatrist doesn’t mean I don’t have personal beliefs, Jensen. Why do you ask?”

He let the words gather in his brain, sorting through them and trying to figure out how the hell to explain what had happened in LA. How did you explain to a psychiatrist the disembodied spirit of your lover had helped you catch his would be killer? It was a no win situation no matter how you turned it.

“There were things I didn’t share with you about what happened in LA.”

Lips quirked at the corner and eyes boring through him, she took a drink. “Is that so?”

He couldn’t quite bring himself to look into her eyes, fingers peeling the label from the soda bottle in his hands. “You know Robert Cortese tried to murder Jared—that much I told you. I also told you Robert’s sister Genevieve was the one who hired me to investigate what she believed was Jared’s death, but what I didn’t tell you was I knew she was coming—well maybe not her, but I felt as if I were being watched before she even called me.”

“Robert?” she offered even as he shook his head, “Then who?”

Jensen lifted his head and met her steady gaze. It was one thing for her to say she believed in the paranormal, it was another thing all together for her to believe what he was about to say.

“What is it you’re so afraid to admit?”

A harsh laugh escaped him as he stood and began pacing the floor, soda forgotten on the table between them. “It was Jared.” He spit out the words as if they left a bad taste in his mouth.

“You said Jared was in a coma for six months.”

“He was, but…” he glanced down at the faded scars on his palms.

“You saw him when he was in a bed miles away, comatose, in Sand City.”

When he turned to meet her eyes, he found not disbelief as he’d expected, but rather understanding. He returned to his chair and dropped into it with a confused expression. “You don’t think I’m crazy?”

She shook her head and smiled at him. “Not in the least, Jensen. History has tons of lore about people who are on the verge of death seen miles away from where their physical bodies are located. In the old stories, they were called fetches—death omens.”

“But you’re a doctor…a person of science.”

“What people once thought was witchcraft or unnatural is known as natural with a scientific explanation. Science has yet, despite some people’s opinions, to explain everything. Perhaps, one day we’ll understand the phenomenon, but for now…” she shrugged. “So, why does this Agent Smith want to see Jared?”

“Because she knows we communicated when he was unconscious and those communications helped me locate the bastard who tried to kill him. How she knows I haven’t a clue, but she does.”

Cindy raised one eyebrow. “Why not discuss it with Jared?”

He pushed up from the chair again, moving to the window and stared out at the shining lights of downtown Boston, fists clenched at his sides. “He’s been through enough, Cindy. I can’t…”

“Isn’t that for Jared to decide?”

Logically he knew she was right, but his heart wanted to protect Jared from ever having to face the darkness again.

“I know you want to protect him. I do. It’s been over a year though, and he’s not getting any better.”

His head dropped, one hand lifting to rub at the knot of pain forming between his eyes. He hated she was right—about everything. They’d hoped a change of scenery would help Jared and Boston seemed the perfect solution. Sandy had connections here, family and friends even if they were mafia. At first things had been going well, the excitement of relocating, getting his business up and running, it had kept them busy and exhausted enough the nightmare of LA had become a distant memory. Once the dust settled though the ghosts of the past reared their ugly heads again and pushed them apart so slow Jensen hadn’t noticed at first.

“You’re right.” He admitted after a few minutes of silence. “Maybe I’ve been trying too damn hard to protect him, but…”

“You love him.”

He offered her a sad smile. “Yeah, and it hurts like hell.”


	4. Chapter 4

Jim waited in his Chevy 4x4 on the parking lot as he often did when he picked up Jared from his sessions. Boy had a head harder than concrete when it came to accepting help much less trusting anyone. There were days Jim wondered if he even trusted Jensen despite what the two of them had been through back in Los Angeles.

He’d called Jim earlier and let him know his session was running long today and the physical therapist had insisted he have a session with one of the councilors as well. His tone was sarcastic and edged with a bitterness Jim had become familiar with when he’d lost his own daughter years ago. Headshrinkers always thought they could answer anything, a few questions, and some digging and maybe a little pink pill would solve any problem. It was a bunch of hokum as far as he was concerned. Bastards hadn’t helped him and he doubted they’d ever solve the problems Jared had. Jared had what he needed if the idgit would simply open his damn eyes.

Across the lot, Jim spied Jared as he exited the building and worked his way across the damp asphalt, gusts of wind catching in his long hair and sending it flying as if caught in a mini-tornado. He had to suppress the urge to leave the truck and cross the lot to help Jared as he limped along on his cane—a crutch Jim damn well knew he didn’t really need. The shattered bones in his leg had healed long ago and there was nothing physically holding the kid back. His doctors and physical therapists had explained the limp was psychosomatic months ago, but Jared refused to give up the damn cane. The first time Jim had gotten out of the truck and tried to help the kid he threw a tantrum of epic proportions and ended up on his ass in a snow bank. After that, Jim never tried to help him to the truck again. If the kid were going to heal, he’d have to do it in his own sweet time.

He popped the locks as Jared reached the truck, free hand wrapping around the door handle, and heaving it open with the grace of a two-legged dog chasing a rabbit on speed. Jim waited in silence as he dragged his sorry ass up into the seat and shifted his bad leg in, folding the cane up to settle it between his thighs before slamming the door with a grunt.

“Good session?” he inquired starting the engine as Jared slumped down in the seat. The roar of the engine vibrated through the body of the truck as he shifted into drive and headed out of the parking lot and onto the street.

Jared shrugged beneath the layers he wore, blowing a strand of hair from his eyes. “Same old shit different day.”

“Ain’t it always?” Jim grumbled beneath his breath as he guided the truck through evening traffic toward South End.

As they drove through the city, night falling, a comfortable silence descended over the interior of the cab. Jim wanted to help Jared in a way he hadn’t wanted to help anyone since Alona had darkened his doorstep back in Los Angeles. He grinned to himself recalling the discussion he’d had with her father when she’d decided she wanted to go to Boston with Jensen. Her father was career military, a hard ass, hard as they came and Jim knew he wasn’t going to be happy when he heard his only child wanted to rip up roots again and travel to the east coast to work for a man he’d never met.

Jim had alleviated his fears by assuring him Jensen was an honorable man and he’d iced the cupcake by informing Ben he would be trailing her straight to Boston. Never mind he was doing so for Jensen rather than Alona, Ben needn’t know the truth on that particular point. Knowing Jim was going to be with his baby girl eased any doubts he had about the sudden move. Jim figured now her father was content with the idea of Boston he’d leave it up to Alona to broach the subject of Marcos. He still had his own doubts there, but Marcos despite being old enough to be her father seemed a good man and she was happier than he’d ever had the pleasure of seeing her. Of course, Jim was washing his hands of that situation.

“Jim.”

He near jumped from his skin when Jared spoke up out of left field. The kid rarely spoke and only when it was a matter of necessity most times. He cleared his throat and glanced from the corner of his eye to where Jared stared out at the slow moving lights of the traffic.

“Yeah, son, what’s got you talking tonight?”

There was a moment of silence and then Jared turned from the window to glance at him with eyes hidden in the shadow of shaggy bangs. “Do you think there’s something wrong with me?”

Jim frowned as he focused on the vehicles in front of him. “What do you mean?”

Sighing, Jared lifted one hand and ran trembling fingers through his windblown hair before turning back to stare out the window. “Everyone keeps telling me I don’t need this crutch. That it’s only in my mind, but…” he paused and tried to control his breathing.

“Don’t matter what other folks think. It matters what you think.” The last thing he wanted was to play father confessor to Jared’s imagined sins. “What do you think?”

The next thing out of Jared’s mouth wasn’t anything Jim could have imagined. It wasn’t the answer to his question, but rather a confession, one Jim could have done without tonight.

“I remember.”

“Excuse me?”

Jared took another breath and exhaled against the glass, shoulders slumping deeper into the seat. “The night I almost died…I remember everything.”

Blinking, Jim offered Jared a quick glance before focusing back on the taillights of the car in front of him. “I thought…”

“Yeah, everybody did and I didn’t…not at first, but it’s been coming back in bits and pieces.”

Jim contemplated what Jared was saying. He felt for the kid in a way he doubted few could. He himself had spent time thigh deep in muck in the rice paddies of Vietnam, facing death every hour he breathed, and there had been moments he’d experienced he’d repressed for longer than he cared to admit. When he’d met his beloved wife after returning it had been her love that forced him to face so many of those dark memories. It nearly killed him at times, waking in the wee hours of the morning with the taste of blood on his lips and the cries of dying soldiers echoing in his ears. He’d turned to his wife’s arms in those moments and wept until he couldn’t breathe through the pressure on his sinuses.

“Does Jensen know?”

Jared’s entire body shuddered as he shook his head. “No, I can’t…”

If Jim hadn’t been driving, he would have smacked the kid in the back of his hard head. “Damn it, Jared!” he snapped. “Don’t you get it yet? Jensen loves you, son. He’d fucking die for you if need be. You need to stop being a fucking idgit and tell him.”

Jared remained silent for so long Jim figured he’d scared him into not saying anything further on the subject. Being what it was and how he felt about Jensen, he was going to have a hard enough time keeping silent, but it wasn’t his story to tell. It was Jared’s story and he’d be damned before he stepped into that situation either. He owed Jensen for bringing his daughter’s killer to justice, but he wasn’t going to pay back the debt by interfering in his private life.

“I know he loves me, I’ve always known, but that only makes it harder to confess the secrets I’ve been keeping from him.”

“No one ever said life was easy and love isn’t either. He’s worried sick about you. He moved across the fucking country for you. Turned his life upside down and topsy-turvy because of the love he has for you. So you got a choice to make. Tell or don’t, but don’t disrespect everything he’s been through for you.”

For the remainder of the ride, Jared had nothing further to offer, and Jim was damn grateful for it.  


Jensen forced one foot in front of the other as he headed up the front stairs of the brownstone he and Jared shared in South End, the sound of the wrought iron gate creaking behind him in the wind grating on his last nerve. As he reached the front door, he shifted the messenger bag over his shoulder and sifted through the ring of keys in his hand beneath the porch light in search of the door key. It was at that moment every hair at the base of his skull pricked up.

Sucking in a calming breath, he glanced back behind him along the brick walkway to where the gate hung half open, shuddering in the wind. Nothing seemed amiss. This late at night the street was semi-quiet, an occasional car, and the distant sound of televisions or muted conversations and laughter the only sound other than the sporadic gusts of autumn wind; he knew in his gut though it was a complete lie.

Someone or something was out there in the darkness and it was watching him.

Turning back to the door casually, he reached beneath his jacket to pop the clasp on his shoulder holster—just in case—and then unlocked the door. Slipping inside he turned and punched in the key code to the alarm with an efficiency born of practice, then kicked the door shut and clicked the dead bolt in place. Even with the door between him and the street, he could feel eyes on him and he began searching the house, leaving a string of bright light in his wake.

By the time, he’d checked every closet, lock, and under every bed, ending his search in the basement the brownstone was lit up like a Christmas tree. Ascending the basement stairs, gun back in its holster, he began to wonder if between Agent Smith’s visit and Misha’s stories he wasn’t being more paranoid than he already was on a daily basis.

He shucked his jacket hanging it over the back of the kitchen chair closest to him and rolled up the sleeves of his over shirt, still unwilling to give up his weapon. As he lifted his head, eyes focused on the large window above the table, he swore he caught a glimpse of movement in the backyard and he froze, teeth digging along the inside of his lower lip. A part of him chided himself for jumping at shadows, but another part insisted he not ignore what he knew he’d seen.

Straightening up, he slipped the gun from its holster and moved to the back door, free hand lifting to flip the switch to the porch light. A flood of light swept across the small yard, washing away the thick shadows. He slid back the chain and popped the deadbolt, eyes never leaving the yard, and swung the door open, chill night air sweeping through the screen door window. Beyond the porch, there was no movement other than the rattle of the tangled black branches of the wide spread red maple, an occasional crimson leaf drifting to the grass and brick below.

He’d been positive something moved in the shadows, but then his nerves were on edge already. Moving down the steps to the brick patio, he eyed the shadows collected in the corners of the small area, arms extended and finger itching to pull the trigger on whatever idiot had decided to intrude on his turf.

Nothing, not a god damned thing moved other than the leaves skittering along the damp brick. A sudden flash of lightning lit up the eastern sky followed by a loud crash of thunder and his grip on the gun tightened. This reminded him too much of that distant night in Los Angeles when he’d felt eyes watching him. The moment his life had did a sudden sharp twist and sent him tumbling into the unknown. From the storm to the eerie brush of eyes across his skin and then—

The doorbell echoed through the house and out the back door, clear as the cry of a foghorn in the harbor. He jumped, finger coming a hair’s breadth from pulling the fucking trigger. Heart hammering against his ribs Jensen tried to calm his breathing as he holstered his weapon.

It was probably Jared. He’d been so spooked when he’d gotten home he couldn’t remember if he’d slid the chain on the door or not. Giving the backyard a final glance, he entered the house closing and locking the door behind him. He was starting to feel as if he were an idiot. There was no reason whatsoever to be so damn jumpy. He hadn’t agreed to help Smith with the case she’d presented and to be truthful considering the past she and Misha shared he was leaning toward telling her to go fuck herself.

On reaching the door, he went to slide the chain free and realized he hadn’t chained the door in the first place. His eyebrows drew together as he peered out the side window, no sign of anyone on the porch. If it hadn’t been Jared, (which by the way where the fuck was he and Jim) then who was ringing his bell at this time of night. Cautious he disengaged the dead bolt, opened the door, and stepped onto the porch. Again, as with the backyard, there was no sign of anyone.

“God, I need a fucking drink.” He mumbled beneath his breath.

Turning he went to go back in the house when he saw a long narrow box propped against the doorframe, the type florists used, crimson ribbon encircling it and tied in the perfect bow. Between the box and ribbon was tucked a white envelope.

Flowers, he thought. But, who would be sending either of them flowers?

He crouched down, studying the box with suspicion. There seemed nothing unusual about the box, standard white, simple ribbon, and the small envelope bearing his name in black inked capital letters. Taking the envelope in hand, he straightened up, and left the box where it was. Flipping over the envelope, he slid one finger beneath the taped flap and ripped it open. Inside was a simple card, same block letters spelling out a message, although what it meant he had no idea.

 

CAN YOU HEAR THE POISON RAIN?

 

Jensen felt his gut twist at the words and his eyes focused on the innocuous box with its crimson ribbon. Something told him not to open the box. That same thing told him he was about to step into something he wanted no part of.

He didn’t listen.

Dropping to his knees beneath the glare of the porch light, he reached out, fingers curling in the silky ribbon and tugged the bow loose. The ribbon fell away from the box trailing across the wood of the porch like fresh blood. Seconds passed as he stared at the crisp white box and tried to convince himself to get to his feet and call the fucking police, but he didn’t. He reached out, again, breath condensing in the cold air as his fingers grasp the edge of the lid. His heart sped up rhythm sounding as if a single word whispered repeatedly in his ear.

DON’TDON’TDON’TDON’TDON’TDON’T

Pulling the lid free, he watched as hundreds of coins tumbled out in a waterfall of gold across the porch. The shine of them dazzled his eyes, blinded him with their beauty as they spun and danced from the interior of the box. It wasn’t the coins though that had him stumbling to his feet and nearly falling down the stairs as he swung around and emptied the contents of his stomach over the railing into the bushes.

Sealed in a Ziploc bag, amidst the fall of gold, was a horrifying sight he would never wish on anyone.

Fumbling for his cell with one hand, he wiped his mouth on his sleeve, bitter bile burning his tongue as he dialed 911. It looked as if Agent Smith had gotten her wish in the worst possible way. The Hunter had claimed another victim. And for some reason the killer had chosen Jensen as the recipient of their freshly removed heart.

 

From across the street, a figure watched Jensen through night vision binoculars with insane glee. Getting to this point had been excruciating and painful to say the least, but to witness the utter revulsion on his face had been well worth the wait.

He'd dared to play with the darkness. Now the darkness dared to play with him.


	5. Chapter 5

As he made his way along the tree-lined street, Jim’s stomach plummeted. There were police and emergency vehicles lining the sidewalks, neighbors standing in clusters, and at the center of the whirlwind was Jensen and Jared’s home it seemed. Jared was silent, but his previous body language had changed from depressive to alert, hands rubbing along his thighs in a nervous motion.

An officer stopped them at the head of the street, Jim explained who they were as he, and Jared provided their identification. The young man who looked no more than sixteen waved them through. Approaching the mass of flashing lights, Jim spotted Jensen standing near a black SUV, back against the rain-dappled metal, and eyes focused on some distant point no one else could see. At his side was a tall, svelte blonde woman dressed in black, hands stuffed in her coat pockets as she leaned in close talking. Jensen shook his head and refocused his attention on the ground, shoulders curling inward as if to insert a shield between him and the woman.

“I’ll stay here.”

The sudden break in Jared’s silence caused Jim to jump, hands tightening around the steering wheel. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“The truck,” Jared sighed gaze never shifting from where Jensen stood. “I don’t think I can be near him right now.”

Jim frowned, knuckles blanching from the pressure of his grip, “Who? Jensen? Because I think, he could use your support right now from the looks of it.”

“Jim, I don’t want to argue. Please, just park and I’ll wait here.”

The moment he spoke the words, Jensen lifted his head from where he’d been staring at the pavement and their eyes locked. Even from that distance, Jared could see the fear and worry in Jensen’s eyes. It was something he’d become quite familiar with—the worry not the fear though. Something bad, really fucking bad, had happened tonight and it had happened at their home, the one place they’d both considered a refuge.

Without even seeing a badge, he knew the woman was a Fed and if a Fed was talking to Jensen, it had to be beyond bad. They’d been courting Jensen since Los Angeles and he’d always told them to shove it where the sun didn’t shine in no uncertain terms. He knew Jensen had no desire to get involved with the Feds if for no other reason than out of respect for Misha. Once upon a time Misha had been one of them. Jared didn’t know the entire story, but he knew it involved the death of the man’s wife and child. It was all Jensen had told him, the rest he’d stated was for Misha to tell if he chose to do so.

“On second thought,” Jared cleared his throat, “you stay here and I’ll go talk to Jen.”

A wave of relief washed over Jim as he allowed an officer to direct him to an open spot among the numerous vehicles. It was about time Jared did the right thing and acted like the partner Jim knew he was. Perhaps, all the sacrifices Jensen made for the younger man were about to be returned now.

Cutting the engine, he leaned back in the seat eyes fixed anywhere but on Jared as the young man opened the door and struggled out of the truck. After a few minutes, he turned and eyed Jared as he shifted his weight to the crutch to close the door. He cleared his throat and Jared looked up with wide eyes the color of molasses and sunlight.

“Do right by him—you hear?”

In the depths of his gut Jim knew things were about to take a turn for the worse. Of course, he’d never thought it could, but then, perhaps that’s what Jared needed. A solid reason to pull himself from the hole he’d buried himself in long before Jensen fell for him.

 

Agent Smith had been the last person Jensen had wanted to see when the heat of the Boston PD had descended on his quiet street. He’d left what he’d discovered right where the fucker had sat it, backing down into the street, palms slick with perspiration and face ghost white. Sitting down on the edge of the sidewalk he’d reached in his shirt pocket and fumbled for a cigarette, hands shaking so bad he thought he might never get it lit. When at last he’d managed to steady them well enough he’d taken a drag deep enough he choked on the smoke curling through his lungs.

A human heart from a fresh kill, sealed in plastic and sitting in a box on his front porch delivered to his stoop as if it were no more than a fresh cut dozen of red roses, but it was more than that. It was part of someone’s daughter, granddaughter, girlfriend, and when the police discovered who the unfortunate girl was there would be yet another family grieving tonight in the city for a loss that should have never happened. He didn’t give a damn what Samantha Smith had to say. The fucker had made it his business and now there was going to be hell to pay for dragging him into this mess.

“Are you willing to agree now?”

He stared down the street, watching the writhing shadows, and searched for a face he might not know but would recognize. He’d looked into the eyes of a monster more than once and the last one he’d laid eyes on had ended up with his brains splattered across the wall of a Beverly Hills mansion in front of his family. Robert Cortese hadn’t been the first man he’d killed and now he wouldn’t be the last.

“Agree to what?” he questioned. “Pulling Jared into this fucking nightmare? You have got to be kidding me, lady.” Shaking his head his gaze lowered to the damp asphalt of the street. “Jared’s been through enough, more than you can imagine, and he’s not ready for any of this.”

Samantha sighed, hands curled into fists in her coat pockets. “Don’t you think that’s his choice to make?”

“No, it’s not. He’s been struggling to heal from what that bastard Cortese did to him for two fucking years. Nightmares so hellish if you heard his screams you’d think you were locked in a damn insane asylum.”

“He’s a grown man, Jensen. He’s not a child, not by a long shot, and you need to quit protecting him from the truth.”

He laughed, yet there was nothing humorous in the sound. “You have your nerve…” when he looked up it was to see Jim’s truck and Jared was looking straight through the windshield at him. He never finished the thought or the curses he’d been about to offer Smith.

Jensen had always prided himself in the ability to hide what he was feeling, but as he looked into Jared’s eyes, he knew he’d failed to do so this time. He knew from the expression in his eyes Jared had witnessed the fear threatening to drown him in a pool of darkness. He swallowed hard, glanced at Samantha, into ice blue eyes and knew what she was about to do. The taste of vomit rose in his throat again and he shook his head, furious and frightened nine ways to Sunday.

“Don’t.” he choked out around the vile taste invading his mouth, “Don’t fucking do this to him.”

Her eyebrows drew together as if she were struggling to find an answer both of them would be happy with and then she spoke. “He might be the only hope I have of stopping this sadistic son of a bitch. You and he have a special bond, a connection like nothing I’ve ever heard of and he needs to know.”

Tears welled in Jensen’s eyes, but he’d be damned before he let them fall especially in front of her. “He doesn’t remember any of it,” he confessed. “Not the attack or afterward communicating with me while he was on the verge of…”

“Yeah, I do.”

They both turned to see Jared standing there, weight resting on his cane, and wind whipping hair around his pale face. He shuffled forward, leg stiff, and almost dragging behind him.

Jensen was sure he’d heard Jared wrong. How could he have heard those three simple words? If Jared had remembered, wouldn’t he have told him? Wouldn’t he have said something, anything at all, this entire time?

“I’m sorry, Jen. I couldn’t tell you not after everything you’ve already done for me. How could I add more weight on your shoulders?”

Disbelief shifted to anger and Jensen stepped forward, shoving his palm into Jared’s chest, “How? Fuck, man, I love you! That’s what you do when you love someone you damn idiot!”

For a moment, Jared teetered as if he were about to crumple to the ground and then he sucked in a ragged breath, eyes welling up. “I know that. Don’t you think I know that? I love you too you stupid bastard!”

Jensen froze in his tracks and stood there staring into Jared’s eyes in shock. Jared had never said it. He’d known Jared loved him in the core of his soul, but Jared never voiced the words. He stepped back and turned away only to come face to face with Samantha who was watching them with a curious expression. God he wanted to punch her so damn bad or better yet pull his gun and shoot the bitch. Of course neither was an option and after everything he hoped she would back off, but she didn’t.

Stepping around Jensen, she opened her mouth to speak and he caught her arm with one hand drawing her attention. Neither of them spoke, but volumes were said before she pulled away and faced Jared.

She thrust one hand forward and met Jared’s eyes. “Agent Samantha Smith with the BSU Division of the…”

“You’re a Fed…I know.”

“How did you…?”

Jared threw back his head laughing, a rare thing in his life. “It’s not like you’re hard to spot. Feds are always easy to pick out of a crowd of cops. You guys stand out like a six foot drag queen at a frat party.”

“Well,” Samantha dropped her hand with a secretive smile, “I guess I’ll need to talk to the bosses about that, Mr. Padalecki.”

He sobered up and glanced to where Jensen was leaning against the SUV. Heart skipping a beat his attention drifted between the two of them and he knew what he’d overheard had something to do with why Agent Smith was here.

“Not to be a dick, but exactly what were you two discussing?”

He noted the sudden tension in the set of Jensen’s shoulders following a demanding look in Agent Smith’s eyes as she turned in his direction. Jared wasn’t sure he wanted to know, but if he were going to get an answer, it sure in the hell wasn’t going to be from Jensen.

Agent Smith cleared her throat not to answer his question, but rather to question Jensen. “Are you going to tell him or am I going to be the bad guy here?”

“Fuck you.”

Whatever had happened tonight hadn’t started tonight. Jared knew Jensen had seen this woman before, even spoken to her at length about something. He was only guessing, but Jared was damned sure it had something to do with Los Angeles.

“Fine, it won’t be the first time I’ve ended up on the wrong side.” She turned to face Jared and looked nervous as hell for a split-second. “Do you remember being in contact with Mr. Ackles during your coma?”

Jared blinked, brow furrowing. “I’m not sure what you mean, Ms. Smith.”

“Agent Smith.” she corrected, stepping closer. “And I’m quite sure you do.”

He swallowed hard and averted his eyes to the ground. “Yes, I do.”

“Do you have any idea how that is possible, Mr. Padalecki?”

“No.”

She leaned in trying to catch his eye and eventually he gave in, looking up. This time her eyes held understanding warmth that hadn’t been there seconds before. She smiled and for the first time he realized Samantha Smith was a very attractive woman, not to mention she wasn’t the ice queen she pretended to be.

“I believe you and your partner have a psychic connection.”

He snorted in disbelief. “Are you sure your name isn’t Mulder, because Agent Smith, what you’re suggesting sounds like an X-File.”

“X-File maybe, but it’s the truth. You’ll come to understand I’m not your typical Fed, Mr. Padalecki, I never have been.”

 

Hours later, dust settling, the majority of the crime scene techs had departed and the coroner had transported the evidence to the lab for further inspection. Two officers were posted outside, one at the front and the other at the back of the brownstone to keep an eye out for any sign of Jensen’s night visitor. None of those present wanted to believe the Hunter had struck again, but they understood in their gut if he had, it meant he was escalating. Only the night before they'd discovered the body of Leighton Meester and morbid as it sounded Smith hoped the heart delivered was hers and not a new victim.

Jensen stood at the kitchen door, watching the officer patrolling the alley wishing he were anywhere but here. At the kitchen table, Jared and Smith sat cooling cups of coffee in front of them. Across the room, Detective Kurt Fuller leaned in the door eyebrows drawn together in a profound frown.

Fuller had appeared moments after Jared had arrived and he wasn’t happy. To anyone else he would have been a scary man to face, six-three, balding with intense blue gray eyes; Fuller had served with the Boston PD for close to thirty years, the past ten as a homicide detective. His partner was fresher and less imposing, but no less scary. Detective Patrick Stuart was pacing the length of the kitchen, scribbling notes as he asked questions. Jensen imagined Stuart had been born into an upper class family from the way he spoke and held himself, but Fuller was definitely a middle class guy. He wasn’t worried having faced far scarier and walked out the other side intact.

“So, you arrived around 7 pm and entered the house. Did you notice anything out of the ordinary at the time?” Stuart paused and turned to face Jensen.

“If you mean did I see some insane fucker with a bloody heart in tow the answer is no, but there was someone watching the house.” He exhaled, breath misting the window.

Stuart frowned and paused to scribble another note. “And exactly how do you know that, Mr. Ackles?”

He lifted his hand, single finger tracing the shape of a heart in the condensation. As he realized what he was doing, he flashed back to a stormy night in Los Angeles when he’d done the same thing and he began to wonder if maybe Smith was right about him and Jared. “Don’t tell me you haven’t honed a sixth sense about shit like that, Detective Stuart. In our business it’s not uncommon to known when we’re being watched.”

“I’m a police officer not a rent a cop.” Stuart sneered.

Turning Jensen took two steps forward and slammed his fists down on the table causing both Jared and Smith to jump. “So was I you arrogant bastard until I decided the law didn’t give a damn about the victims!”

Stuart didn’t back down nor did he flinch. “Oh, I know about your record, Mr. Ackles, and so does my partner.” He shrugged a shoulder in Fuller’s direction. “I also know you’ve killed at least two men. How do we know you’re not the Hunter?”

“Enough!” Smith snapped as she stood and gave both men a furious glare, before turning to Fuller. “I suggest you get your dog on a leash, Detective Fuller before I do.”

Fuller’s expression shifted a smug curl at the corner of his mouth and one eyebrow lifted. “Why? After all, my dog has a valid point. These deaths didn’t start until after Ackles arrived in Boston.”

Eyes narrowing, Jensen darted around the table and fisted the front of Fuller’s jacket meeting his indifferent eyes, “You stupid fucking bastard! This shit didn’t visit my doorstep until you idiots called in the BSU!”

Expression never changing Fuller spoke, voice low and menacing. “I suggest you release my jacket, Ackles, before I decide to charge you with assaulting an officer.”

With a frustrated huff, Jensen let go of his jacket and backed away. “Maybe you should be looking at the fact this fucker might be one of your own, Fuller. Who the hell else knew Agent Smith was coming to see me today?”

A sudden confusion shone in Fuller’s eyes. “You didn’t tell me you were going to see him. Exactly, why the hell did you keep that from me?” he demanded.

Smith moved toward him until there was barely a hand’s width between the two of them. Tipping her head back, she stared straight into his furious eyes and smiled, a wicked curve of glossy pink lips, and blew a stray strand of hair from her eyes. “What I do or don’t do is none of your concern, Detective Fuller.”

The way she said his title sent the short hairs at the base of Jensen’s skull to full attention. He’d known from the moment he’d laid eyes on the woman there was something about her that warned anyone with half a lick of sense to keep their mouth shut. It was the feeling you got when a dog looked at you from behind a wire fence; gleam in the eyes that seemed to ask if they were to escape whether they should go for the jugular or the gut. Jensen was damned sure Samantha Smith was a jugular girl.

Fuller snorted. “You Feds are all the fucking same with your fancy college degrees and your self-important attitude. How much time have you spent on the street, Agent Smith? How many victims have you witnessed being zipped into body bags? Frankly I find you less than impressive.”

“More than you would think, Fuller. By the way, I could care less how much I impress you. So, if you’ve finished spraying down the room with testosterone, perhaps we could get back at the matter at hand. Jensen has a point. I left a message for you about my visit to him this morning with your assistant. Anyone could have overheard us speaking.”

They stood and stared one another down, the entire group digesting the implications of what Smith had said. With each passing second, the silence became more uncomfortable and then Jared speaking shattered it for the first time since they’d entered the house.

“Why would he do this?”

Jensen glanced over at where Jared sat staring into his long cold coffee, lost and scared expression on his face. He moved to his side, taking the chair next to him and reached out, hand hovering over his slumped shoulders.

“It’s going to be fine, Jay. I promise.”

He lifted his head, eyes hidden behind his bangs. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Jen. This was supposed to be a fresh start and look what’s happened.”

Gut twisted, Jensen took a calming breath before he spoke. “It has been a fresh start. You can’t expect everything to be perfect.”

Jared started to laugh, close to hysteria. “Perfect? Hell, I never expected perfection. All I wanted was peace, but now…fuck.”

Pushing up from his chair, Jared’s fingers tightened around his cane as he hobbled toward the back staircase. He paused at the base of the stairs, glanced at the three cops and then back at Jensen who was staring at him with something close to desperation. He should have known better. He’d never had a moment’s peace. Not since his father had disowned him for being, what he saw as, a twisted pervert, all those years ago.

“You should have let me die in Sand City. I’m nothing but a curse to everyone around me.” He turned away and headed up the stairs.

Jensen discovered himself speechless. For the first time in years, he had no words.

How could he make him understand? Jared wasn’t the problem—he was.


	6. Chapter 6

Jared pushed open the door to the attic room on the third floor he’d claimed as his studio, exhausted to the point he simply wanted nothing more than sleep forever. The room wasn’t even half the size of the studio he’d had back in California, but then that one had been Genevieve’s doing. She’d always been the ostentatious one not him.

Door swinging shut, he crossed the room to where a bed sat surrounded by canvases, paints, and brushes among other supplies. He lowered his body to the bed and glanced up at the skylight above him. Most nights the light of the moon and stars managed to pierce the city lights to some extent, but tonight the storm clouds blotted out what little comfort they normally offered.

What had happened tonight made his soul scream yet no one seemed to hear it, not even Jensen who he loved more than any human had the right to do. His eyes burned with tears he’d refused to shed downstairs. He’d managed to say something though he’d never managed before and Jensen had heard. Until now, he’d never said he loved Jensen aloud, but they’d known or so he thought. Now though he wasn’t so sure.

To be honest he had nothing to blame except his own fear. Even after waking in that bed back in Sand City and moments later laying eyes on the man he’d searched for his entire life the words refused to come. All he’d been able to do was say Jensen’s name, but it seemed enough for Jensen. As weeks turned to months, his memories had returned and he recalled standing on the cliffs next to his beloved lighthouse speaking to Jensen. He knew it hadn’t happened in the real world, but it was so vivid it seemed as real as the memory of making love to Jensen had been.

Sitting aside his cane, Jared shifted onto his back and closed his eyes, tears seeping from beneath his clenched lids, and trailing down into his hair. He did love Jensen even knowing who the man was and what he’d done in the past didn’t change that. It was the past though feeding his fear—fear for Jensen—when it came to tonight’s horrors. This killer, whoever he might be, had set sights on Jensen for some reason. Was he simply screwing with him or was there something worse waiting in the wings besides mind games and murder.

As he laid there, chest tight with emotion, Jared began to drift.

 

Molly Quinn had been a beautiful, talented girl when she breathed. It was a shame to end her life, but her innocence would lure Ackles into the game at last. Innocence was the key to it all. It had taken the death of the first three girls for the Hunter to realize nothing less than innocence would work as bait.

Pacing the length of the autopsy table, eyes focused on the tubing responsible for emptying the blood from Molly’s lifeless body, the Hunter wondered if they’d discovered the young woman had gone missing yet. She’d been younger than the others, still a teenager, and a freshman who’d entered Harvard with stars in her eyes. She’d been out celebrating her roommate’s birthday the night before when the Hunter spotted her.

So fresh faced, wide blue eyes filled with laughter and long red hair swinging around a smooth flawless face as she danced in the crowd. When she’d excused herself to slip out for a cigarette the Hunter had followed. They’d chatted beneath an overhang, smoking their cigarettes, two strangers simply comparing notes about Boston and college life. Afterward they’d shared a kiss. The kiss had been the end for Molly, sweet and tainted with enough drugs to knock her on that cute ass.

By the time she’d come back to herself, she was strapped to the table, naked and helpless. Spread open for the Hunter’s touch, a veritable feast of purity. The way her perk youthful tits quivered as one gloved hand stroked them, teasing the pink nipples to tight peaks begging to be sucked and bitten. Her skin tasted of fresh melon and sunlight on a warm summer afternoon. Her sex was even more exquisite as her thighs were forced apart, tight little hole hidden away in velvet folds, and the way she moaned as the Hunter’s tongue teased the rosebud of her clitoris was almost too much to bear.

This was the part the Hunter looked forward to, making her come repeatedly without breaking a sweat. Tongue, fingers, and all manner of toys used on her sweet pussy and tight ass until she became a quivering, sobbing toy herself; a toy that breathed, moaned, and wept at the violation of her most intimate places.

The memory of her virginal pussy (and dear God she had been a virgin, a miracle in this day and age) filled with the vibrating 10-inch dildo, strapped into place, as the hunter thrust latex covered fingers up her sweet tight ass was exquisite. She’d sobbed like a new born around the ball gag filling her mouth as her pussy convulsed with the constant stimulation. The way her tits flushed crimson, nipples punished with cruel tight clamps. It all gave the hunter a warm feeling of accomplishment.

She’d begged for release from behind dry, cracked lips taut around the gag in her mouth. Molly died in the middle of another orgasm, eyes rolling back in her head as the belt tightened around her throat. Her spine bowed, thighs shaking, and then she took her last breath.

And what a perfect death it was.

 

Jared woke screaming and gagging all at the same time, lungs heaving for air even as what little he’d eaten for lunch surged up to fill the back of his throat. It took him a moment to get his bearings and understand he was safe in his studio.

He’d been dreaming again, but this time it was different.

This dream hadn’t been about Robert Cortese or the things he’d done to him all those years ago. It had been a young girl, innocent and sweet, bound and sexually tortured by someone who was not Robert.

His thoughts were interrupted by Jensen barreling through the door wearing only sweats and weapon draw, eyes wide with fear much as the girl in Jared’s dream, except her eyes had been blue, robin egg blue, not green-flecked hazel.

“Jared!” Jensen gasped as he searched the shadowy corners of the room.

Jared couldn’t quite catch his breath even as Jensen knelt at his feet, gun on the floor and hands cupping his face as he struggled to escape from the terror he knew was waiting for him if he met Jensen’s eyes.

“Damn it, Jared, talk to me. What happened—another bad dream?”

Nodding he lifted his head slowly and tried to focus on the warmth of Jensen’s hands against his tear-streaked face. “Molly.” He whispered.

Confusion swept across Jensen’s face, creases appearing between his eyebrows and at the corners of his eyes. “What did you say?”

“The…the heart…” Jared stuttered.

“What about it?”

“It belonged to a girl named Molly.”

 

Smith furious as hell stormed through the corridor of the Medical Examiner’s offices. If the confrontation with Detective Fuller and his partner Stuart back at Ackles’ house hadn’t been enough now the bastard was keeping shit from her. She’d been nothing except open and cooperative with Fuller, but all she’d got in return was massive attitude from him. Now though he’d crossed a line with her. He’d withheld information about the case from her.

Reaching the end of the corridor, she slammed through the doors into the main autopsy room, startling Detective Stuart who’d been watching Dr. Cohen begin the autopsy of the latest victim of the Hunter.

“Agent…” Stuart started toward her.

Smith didn’t stop. She swung connecting with Stuart’s left jaw, sending him into a sprawl on the cold slick tile, and continued to where Cohen stood, scalpel in hand. It took a second for her to swallow the anger she was feeling. Cohen was the one who’d called her and she was grateful for the head’s up on the appearance of the latest victim of the mad man who was stalking the streets of Boston.

Behind her, Stuart pushed to his feet, rubbing his jaw. “Look it wasn’t my idea to keep you out of the loop.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t, Detective, but you went along with Fuller. What are you his little lapdog or his partner?” She snorted.

Stuart stepped into her line of sight. “I don’t owe you any explanations.”

“You’re right, you don’t.” her eyes narrowed.

“But I’m going to give you one anyway. I owe Kurt my life, ten times over. I was a spoiled rich kid with all the advantages he never had and came close to throwing it all away. Kurt caught me stealing a car when I was eighteen. If he hadn’t been the man he is I would have ended up in prison.”

Samantha sighed, hand lifting to rub at the dull pain forming between her eyes. “I get it—trust me—but he’s been a thorn in my side since I arrived. Frankly, I could give a damn less about who scores the credit for catching this bastard. He needs stopped and now we have victim four. The press is having a field day with this.”

To her surprise, Detective Stuart appeared contrite. She offered him a faint smile and turned back to Cohen. “What have we got here?”

“Molly Quinn, age 19, raped and sodomized, but this time both were prior to death.”

She frowned as she noted the newest victim on the table still had her skin unlike the previous victims although it appeared the killer had removed her heart. “Identification came in quick. How can you tell it was prior to death?”

Cohen raised her head from where she was carefully removing the perfect line of stitches along the chest. “Vaginal and anal tearing, there was blood. Molly here was in fact a virgin. There were traces left from the destruction of her hymen.”

“Jesus,” Stuart groaned. “She’s a baby, younger than the others. And why leave her skin intact? Why change his MO now?”

“He wouldn’t without a damn good reason. Serials pretty much stick to an MO this far into the game. Of course, he only popped up three weeks ago. I’ve ran everything we know through the data base back at the Bureau and there’s nothing on record so far that comes close to matching this guy.”

“What about Ackles?” Stuart asked.

She shook her head. “He’s not our killer not by a long shot. But our killer wants him involved in this for some reason. What was the message left with what I assume was Molly’s heart?”

Reaching in his pocket, Stuart pulled out his notes and flipped through them. “It was a question; can you hear the poison rain. What the fuck does that mean?”

“That’s what we need to find out.”

Cohen cleared her throat and they turned as she lifted a huge Ziploc bag from the dead girl’s chest cavity. “We need to find out more than that.”

Leaning in Samantha swallowed hard. Inside the bag were three human hearts. She’d be guessing, but she was damn sure they were the hearts of the first three victims that were missing. She’d assumed the killer had kept the hearts as trophies, it was apparent she’d been wrong.

 

Jared sat staring into the steaming cup of coffee Jensen had slid in front of him moments before taking the seat across the table from him. The silence in the kitchen was close to being unbearable, but it was better than the muffled screams of the girl he’d witnessed being tortured and murdered in his dreams. He knew Jensen wanted answers yet he had nothing to offer. Until tonight, the nightmares or whatever they were had been about his own experiences. Or so he’d kept telling himself.

“Jared?”

He lifted his head, bloodshot eyes focused on Jensen’s pale face. Fear and confusion evident in his eyes, but there was also worry. It had become commonplace, after he woke from the coma, for his sleep to be disrupted by vivid recollections of what he’d suffered at the hands of Robert Cortese and all the other men Fred Lane had pimped him out to back in Texas. Nothing unusual—right?—except tonight he’d experienced something so different it froze his bones down to the marrow.

“What do you want me to say?” his throat raw from screaming left his voice a shadow of its normal self. “It was a nightmare.”

Jensen shook his head, leaning back in the chair, and disbelief shone in his eyes. “It was more than that, Jared, and we both know it.”

With shaking hands, Jared lifted the coffee, and blew across the surface eyes drifting shut. Images flickered across the back of his lids. The girl, Molly, with the soft, childlike face, and pale robin egg blue eyes pleading for mercy. She was barely more than a child and the idea of someone ending her life as they had made his stomach twist in elaborate knots of nausea.

“Jared, please talk to me. I’m so tired of this damn silence between us.”

Eyes drifting open, Jared glanced up from the coffee and not for the first time guilt flowed through him, molten lava in his veins. Jensen sounded so sad, depressed even, and Jared knew it was his fault. He loved Jensen as the man loved him, but it was so damned hard to let him in. He had spent the majority of his adult life running whether it was from his family, his pimp, the cops or his past. It was a hard habit to break and yet he’d reached out to Jensen before he’d ever met him face to face. He’d reached out over time and space to lead Jensen to the man who’d tried to kill him.

“I’m sorry, Jensen.” He whispered.

Jensen glanced up from the floor where he’d been studying the design in the tile floor and exhaled a harsh breath, “For what?”

“For not telling you the truth.” he lowered the coffee without as much as a sip.

“And what truth is that, Jared?”

His throat closed up, words failing. How could he explain it wasn’t only the fact he was gay that had caused his father to throw him out on the street all those years ago? It had been so much more. In fact, being gay had only been the proverbial icing on the cupcake.

“I’ve been different my entire life.”

He stood pushing back the chair and walked to the window.

“Different?”

“Please, let me get this out before I lose the nerve.”

Jensen leaned back in the chair, scrubbing exhaustion from his face, “Fine. No questions.”

Where to start, Jared wondered. The beginning was the best place even if it seemed numerous lifetimes ago.

“It wasn’t simply because I came out that my father kicked me out.” He began. “It’s never that simple. Not really.”

He could feel Jensen’s gaze focused on him even with his back to him. Some part of his soul, resembling the small child he’d once been, was terrified to open up and reveal the secrets he’d kept close for so long. Jensen loved him and he knew there might be disbelief even after everything they’d both experienced. Of course, Jensen believed it was a fluke. An oddity that had visited them both for some unexplained reason better left a mystery. Jensen would be wrong. It wasn’t a one-time thing. It never had been and Jared was at a loss how to explain it.

“I grew up in a Christian home; church every Sunday, Bible school during the summer, and a Bible in every room. Of course, my idea of Christian and my father’s, were miles apart. There was fear in our house every hour of every day. Maybe if people got more involved things wouldn’t have been as they were.”

Jared took a cleansing breath. He hadn’t thought about his childhood in a very long time. It wasn’t something he wanted or needed to think about now—or so he told himself every waking moment—far easier to forget about the darkness of those times and get on with what remained of his life. He lifted one hand tracing his fingertips along the cold glass as his eyes drifted shut against the burn of tears rising to the surface.

“I was seven when my grandpa died. His death changed everything. Until he took his last breath I had no idea how…” he went silent throat tightening until it was impossible to breathe.

“Jared?”

Holding up one hand, Jared shook his head. All he needed was a minute. Yes, they were ancient memories, but God help him they were so vivid it seemed they’d only happened yesterday. The expression of white-hot rage on his father’s face when he’d told his mama that Grandpa had visited him the night before with the innocence only a small child could possess.

“Nothing happens without a reason.” His breath fogged the cold glass of the window in front of him as he forced the words past his lips. “That’s what my grandpa used to say. He always told me I was special, a gift from Heaven to my mama. That I was the one who’d eventually make her understand and accept things she’d always feared. I had no idea what he meant until he came to see me one night. He told me to be strong, to be true to myself no matter what and then he was gone.”

Jensen lifted one eyebrow, not sure what to say. He wasn’t even clear on what Jared was trying to tell him. Then he thought of the conversation that morning with Samantha Smith, looking out over the Frog Pond. Followed by her insistence on some surreal connection between them when the bastard she was hunting had pulled him full force into the one thing he’d tried to avoid from the moment he’d pulled the trigger on Cortese back in LA.

Everything he’d experienced he’d tried to convince himself was coincidence. A once in a lifetime confluence of events and people that had brought them together. He knew he was lying to himself and more important he was lying to Jared, not through words, but rather through omission. Jared had said earlier he recalled everything during his time in the coma, but Jensen was beginning to wonder what that meant exactly.

“My father beat the hell out of me that morning.” Jared spoke up. “He fractured my wrist, a couple of ribs, and broke my nose before my brother intervened. When I was took to the emergency room he told the doctors I’d been screwing around and fell out of the tree behind our house. My mother insisted I stick with the story and begged me never to speak of the incident again.”

Jensen’s eyes welled up. He’d known Jared had a rough life, but until now, he’d never opened up about it. Clearing his throat Jensen swiped at his eyes not wanting to scare Jared into silence again. “Your grandfather was dead wasn’t he?”

He had no idea why he said it, yet when Jared turned from the window to meet his gaze, he knew he was right. Jared nodded and swallowed hard enough Jensen noted the harsh jerking of his Adam’s apple.

“I saw my grandfather’s spirit that night. As far as my father was concerned, demons possessed me. Until he kicked me out of the house at seventeen, I had to walk a tightrope with him and my mother. She knew I’d inherited a gift from her she’d chosen to throw away by clinging to a man that would rather beat the breath from you than consider such things existed without evil attached. My father should have known the difference between good and evil considering he was nothing but evil.”


	7. Chapter 7

There were so many to choose from, innocents roaming the streets of corruption unaware of what awaited them in the shadows. No matter how many people warned them to stay behind closed doors or to stay in groups, they continued to wander free, unconcerned about the murders. Their justification was always the same—things like that won’t happen to me.

Amanda Righetti was one of those women who believed she was safe. After all, she was just shy of thirty (not that she would admit it to anyone other than the DMV) and the Hunter had a taste for younger women—right? Yes, at thirty, she was a college student, but she was taking night classes to finish her Masters and it was only part-time; the other victims were full time students. Besides, Amanda had more pressing concerns than some fuck with a taste for twisted sexual proclivities and blood on his hands.

She’d skipped her class tonight in favor of blowing her boss. Most of her co-workers at Nicholai’s Boutique believed Nicholai Veselovsky was flat out gay. Amanda knew better and had the rug burn on her knees to prove it. Nic had a taste for women on occasion especially if gifted with the ability to deep throat a cock. Lucky for her, she’d been blessed with an absent gag reflex and loved sucking cock; her first had been the captain of her high school football team when she was fifteen.

The corner of her mouth curled in a faint smile as she moved through the windswept streets of Back Bay, memories of her first sexual encounter sending a flood of warmth into her already damp panties. Amanda never gave a shit who she got involved with to be honest. It was the sex—pure and simple—she loved. There was something freeing and honest about it. She reveled in the taste of anyone who understood the honesty of what sex was about. Tina Turner had it right—what’s love got to with it?

Heading up Dartmouth to the bus stop on the corner where St. James crossed, she cradled her Starbuck’s cup, warmth seeping through knit gloves as she hummed. The foghorns of the boats gliding through the dark waters of the Charles River were audible in the distance. She smiled to herself as she paused at the corner and watched moonlight struggle to pierce the clouds above the towering buildings as she waited for the light to change. Missing class would put her behind, but the memory of Nicholai’s fingers tangled in her red hair as he fucked her mouth was worth it.

 

Half a block up St. James Avenue beneath the looming shadow of Trinity Church a cab idled, headlights dimmed and hooded figure hunched behind the wheel. Narrow eyes watched as Amanda Righetti crossed to the bus stop, one hand clutching her coffee cup, the other pressed to her skirt as a gust of wind tried to lift it.

This one wasn’t innocent.

This one was a whore who’d been servicing her boss for months in an attempt to keep a job she didn’t deserve. Women like her sickened the Hunter. She would fuck anything that moved, exactly like Ackles. Kneel and suck cock or eat pussy as if devouring a New York Strip at some overpriced ristorante.

The Hunter had been following her for months. Originally, she was going to be the first; plans change though. Innocence had taken the place of whorish behavior, but now with Jensen’s attention focused on what it needed to be. He wouldn’t care how big of a slut Amanda was in the big picture unless he was paying close attention.

Shifting into gear, the cab pulled away from the curb.

Amanda was going to get a special treat tonight.

 

Jensen stood on the back porch phone pressed to his ear, and breathed slow and even as he waited for an answer. He’d listened to what Jared had to say and then he’d insisted he try to get some rest. Pulling up the memories alone had rung Jared physically and emotionally dry. Say what you might about Jensen, but he wasn’t an idiot nor was he as cold-hearted as some might believe. Sure, the idea of someone having the abilities Jared confessed to was hard to accept. Because it was hard though it didn’t mean it was impossible to accept. He’d experienced enough to know there were things in this world there was no explanation for no matter how hard a person tried to explain them.

“Smith.”

“It’s me.” He replied to her brisk answer.

There was a moment of silence and then she cleared her throat. “Damn early to be calling a person, Ackles.”

A dry chuckle escaped him as he began to pace the porch. “Sounds like you’re wide awake though. That wouldn’t have anything to do with another body—would it?”

For a moment, he thought he’d lost the connection.

“What makes you say that?”

“A girl.” he answered, “Name of Molly.”

“How the hell did you know?”

“Jared.”

Smith considered Jensen’s words as she paced outside the autopsy room, eyes focused on Detective Stuart who was getting coffee at the end of the hall. “How did he know?” she hesitated. “They only recovered her body two hours ago.”

“More in Heaven and Earth than we’ll ever know, Agent Smith.”

 

The sun had not yet risen above the Atlantic, the city still swathed in darkness when Jensen entered the elevator and headed to the office huge cup of black coffee tight in his grip. He waved to the night guard as he exited the elevator and he waved back. The guy was used to Jensen coming in at the ass crack of dawn especially if he couldn’t sleep or if he were working a case. Both came hand in hand most times.

Reaching the main door, Jensen let himself in locking the door behind. Shadows filled the space giving it an abandoned feel, although in a matter of hours it would be riff with activity and people. He headed down the darkened hall and was about to enter his office when he noticed light seeping from beneath the door of Misha’s office. He frowned as he headed for the other man’s door and wondered exactly what Misha might be doing here this early.

When he reached the door, he pushed it open to discover Misha slumped over the desk, an empty bottle of bourbon next to his elbow. The faint glow of the computer screen cast a bluish tint along the angles and planes of his partners face, highlighting the dark circles beneath his eyes. Jensen sighed, dropping his messenger bag and jacket on the sofa against the wall.

Since the first murder, he’d seen the exhaustion creeping into Misha’s eyes. A part of him had known the other man wasn’t sleeping and he’d tried to ignore the odor of bourbon trailing after him like cheap fucking cologne. Misha was a good man, but he had issues and until now, he’d been able to control them.

He crossed the room, lifted the empty bottle from the desk with a shake of his head and dropped it in the trashcan. The clatter caused Misha to jerk awake, fingers tightening around the gun at his elbow, and spun in the chair bringing it to aim at Jensen with a far steadier hand than appearances promised.

“Shit.” He mumbled lowering the gun. “I could have shot you, Jensen. How many times do I have to tell you not to sneak up on me?”

Jensen raised an eyebrow and snorted, “Didn’t sneak up on you.”

“Whatever.” He grunted as he turned away, setting the gun on the desk.

“You know that word is getting on my last nerve, Misha.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose as Misha ignored him, shuffling papers in an attempt to appear as if he’d been doing something other than getting shit-faced at his desk. Jensen headed for the coffee maker across the room without another word, allowing his friend a moment to gather what few thoughts he could muster in his booze-addled brain. He was worried about Misha in a way only a true friend could be. Yes, the man had issues, but since Samantha Smith’s appearance the previous morning he’d taken them to a new level.

Scooping out coffee into the filter, he flipped on the machine, and then filled the pot from the sink as he cleared his throat. “You need to get a grip, dude. What happened between you and Smith needs put on the back burner.”

“Easy for you to say.” he grunted.

Jensen inhaled to calm himself. He wanted to smack the drunkenness out of Misha, but instead he turned and poured the water into the machine, sliding the pot beneath as the coffee began to percolate. Misha didn’t know what had happened last night nor did he know Jensen was about to rock his fucking world with a decision which hadn’t been the easiest to make. When he’d relocated to Boston he’d wanted to stick with cheating spouses and missing persons at the most, the last thing he’d wanted to do was start hunting murdering fugitives down.

He turned from where he’d been watching the coffee drizzle into the pot, scent causing his stomach to growl, and faced Misha. “I said yes.”

Even in his disheveled and drunken state, Misha knew exactly what Jensen meant with those three words. “You’re a fool.” He spit out in reply through teeth clenched hard enough they should have shattered.

“That’s one opinion, but you don’t know about last night.”

Misha stumbled to his feet and wandered toward the private bathroom. Once out of Jensen’s line of sight, he took a good long hard look at himself in the mirror and what he saw sickened him. Vicki would have been ashamed of him if she were here now. Turning on the faucet, he leaned in and splashed icy water across his face, sting of cold pushed the lingering burn of shame back. He’d never truly grieved for her or their son and now as he took in the haunted expression of the man in the mirror he realized he needed to either grieve and get on with his life or end it.

Swallowing back the bitter surge of agony rising from his gut, Misha pushed his fingers through damp hair and considered the possibilities of working with Sam again after so many fucking years. He’d never trusted her even back when she should have been the one he trusted. Maybe it was the feelings she’d made him experience despite how much he’d loved Vicki. All this anger had grown from the roots of who he’d thought he was and not who he’d actually been. It wasn’t simply shame it was far more.

“What happened last night?” he demanded from his hiding place.

There was a moment of silence and then Jensen’s voice came from the doorway behind him. “That fucker Smith is hunting left a gift on my front porch.”

Misha frowned at the reflection of his partner over his shoulder in the mirror. “What the hell are you talking about?”

He turned and crossed the space between them accepting the offered cup of coffee from Jensen’s hand. The scent was rich, black and it pushed back the shame further as he lifted it to his lips and swallowed not heeding the heat of the liquid. It scalded his tongue and burned down his throat, his eyes watering from the intense pain, but it was nothing he didn’t deserve—was it?

Jensen studied him with intense eyes that seemed to bore through his skull and straight into his brain. “A young girl’s heart, cut from her body, along with a few dozen gold coins and a message.”

A shudder traveled through Misha as he brushed past Jensen into his office. It was happening again; a maniac, killing women just as Julia McNiven had done all those years ago. This one was different though. This bastard was sicker even than Julia had been and the last thing he wanted was to be involved. Julia had been the reason he’d left the Bureau, the reason he’d ran as far as he could and created another life in the City of Angels.

“Angels my ass.” he mumbled beneath his breath.

“What was that?”

He turned to Jensen, more sober than he’d been in years. “I’m in.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“I didn’t either.” He replied.


	8. Chapter 8

Detective Fuller sat at his desk, back to the door, and stared out into the pre-dawn streets of the city he’d sworn to protect and bit back the bitter taste of anger. In the doorway, Smith stood irritation clear in the set of her jaw and gleam of her eyes as she considered simply pulling her weapon and shooting the jackass in the back. He was an angry one and she got that. Too, damn many years on the job seeing what both of them had experienced had a tendency to either bury you in anger or drown you in a bottle of Jack Daniel’s finest or both.

“You do not get it.” He spit out at last. “This is my city, my people. When it’s all said and done you’ll simply cruise on out of town, leave me to pick up the pieces, and pray some other psycho doesn’t make the streets run red with blood.”

She sighed, pushing tousled hair from her eyes. “Can’t help who I am or what I do, but you need to quit being a shit about it. I’m here to help you find this…”

Before she could finish, he spun the chair, standing and slamming his hands on the desk hard enough to vibrate the metal. “And a bang up fucking job you’re doing with that, Agent!”

Anger flashed in her eyes as she moved toward him, hands clenched until her nails left biting crescents in the calloused skin of her palms. “Don’t you fucking dare.” she hissed. “Do you think for one second any of this is easy for me? Years I’ve witnessed things from any normal human’s darkest nightmares—years! I’m not in this job for the benefits, the money, or anything else your tiny mind can conceive of. I’m here for the victims, the families, and that’s it you self-absorbed bastard!”

Fuller pulled back, eyes going wide in shock. “You can’t…”

“What?” she slammed the desk with one fist, “I can’t talk to you like this? Bullshit! I can damn well talk to you any way I see fit considering all it would take is one call to remove you from this case.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” The muscles in Fuller’s jaw twitched.

Smith considered her answer, letting him hang in the wind for a few seconds before she offered him a grin reminiscent of the Cheshire Cat. She could see his muscles tighten, body going stiff, and she knew she had him by the short and curlies. “Try me, asshole.”

Dropping to the chair, Fuller let out an exhausted breath. “Fine, you bitch, but don’t screw me over on this.”

She took the chair in front of his desk, leaning back on two legs and propped her booted feet in the middle of the desk with a thud. “I’ve been called worse. Of course, as I told your weasel partner I have no desire to fight over credit. But you fuck me over one more time I’ll be using your nut sack as a coin purse. Got me, Detective?”

“I got it, Agent Smith.”

“Good now that we’re done with this pissing contest maybe we can catch this fucker.” She dropped her feet to the floor along with the front legs of the chair. “Cohen has an ID on the girl from last night. Has her family been notified?”

Fuller sighed flicker of what she imagined was sadness in his eyes. “Her parents are being notified by the NYPD as we speak. They’ll arrive in Boston this afternoon to identify her body. What about your boy Ackles has he agreed to help?”

“I wouldn’t use the word agree, but yes he’s in now.”

There were a few minutes of silence as Fuller mulled over something that was bothering him. Smith didn’t want to fight with him. She never did want to fight with local police, but there was always tension there between the locals and the Feds, it never failed to amaze her. They were all officers of the law, they should be together on the cases, yet it was rare.

“Why pick him, Samantha? Why pick some nobody PI who couldn’t last two seconds with the LAPD?”

He had a point she thought, but he didn’t know what she knew. How did you explain to a man like Detective Kurt Fuller there were more things out there, than forensics could explain? She demanded honesty from him and yet she was withholding things she was unsure she should share.

“He’s good, Fuller. Better than most and FYI he left the LAPD because he was tired of the bureaucratic red tape the law involves. You can’t tell me you’ve never been pissed because the law that is supposed to protect the victims sometimes protects the criminals from being caught.”

Fuller eyed her for a moment and then spoke up. “Tell me there’s one cop who doesn’t, but I get why the laws are the way they are. All these jack asses and their human rights crap. The only people who preach that shit are the ones who’ve never lost family or friends and then watched the murdering smug bastards walk out of court free because of a fucking technicality.”

Her expression softened. “Who did you lose, Kurt?”

Eyes averted, he stood and walked to the window, hands folded together behind his back, “My mother.”

She should have known. She should have seen herself in his anger. Losing her sister Helena had been the trigger, losing her father had been the bullet. People like her and Fuller didn’t do what they did because they wanted to do it; they did it because they had no choice. They refused to let another person suffer if they could do something to stop it.

“I lost my sister and then my father.”

He turned from the window, hands falling to his sides, and smiled for the first time—an honest to God smile—since she’d walked into his office two weeks ago. “Should have known.” he shook his head in bitter amusement. “We all wear it around our necks, an invisible stone only others like us can see.”

“Kid?” she questioned.

“Twelve.” He replied as he settled back in his chair. “Some stupid punk robbing the corner grocer she was at picking up milk and bread. Owner called the police from the back office, punk didn’t know he was back there. When he heard the sirens, he freaked and started shooting. Owner tried to save her, but she was dead before she hit the floor.”

“I’m sorry.”

Fuller shrugged. “It was a long fucking time ago.”

“Yeah, but you still carry the weight.” Her eyes took on a faraway look. “I was fourteen when my twin sister was raped and murdered. They never caught the son of a bitch. Three years later, my father stabbed to death in a motel room. They didn’t catch that one either.”

“Two stones for you to carry.” he mused in a soft tone.

“Yeah, two stones.” she whispered.

 

Jensen was sitting at his desk, making phone calls, and pulling in favors when Sandy appeared in the door, food and coffee in hand. He glanced up and offered her a faint smile before he finished up his call.

“Thanks, Jeff. Let me know if you find anything. Yeah, me too.” he hung up the phone and leaned back in the chair, stretching, and yawned.

“Please tell me you weren’t here all night.” Sandy crossed the office, heels clicking, and sat the bag of food and coffee on the desk before dropping in a chair.

Jensen reached across the desk and tugged the bag closer, shaking his head. The aroma of warm lemon and ricotta cheese drifted up to greet his nose as he opened the bag, eyes lighting up. “Oh, God.” he moaned pulling out the container with the care one would give an infant lifted from its crib. “The Four Seasons—really? What did I do to deserve this?”

“Nothing in particular.” she grinned. “I know you’ve had a rough week that’s all.”

He glanced up from the container and met her eyes with a doubtful glance. “Have you seen Misha this morning?”

“Yes, and the guy looks like death warmed over twice.” She averted her gaze from his to inspect her perfectly manicured nails. “He was headed home to clean up.” The last two words accentuated by air quotes.

“Did he say anything else?”

Sandy glanced across the desk as he dove into the Lemon Ricotta hotcakes, moaning as if he were having the most incredible sex of his life. “If you mean did he tell me about your sudden decision to lose all common sense and work with a certain ball-buster FBI agent. Then yeah, he did.”

He choked on his first bite. Leave it up to Sandy to spoil and kill him all in the same breath. Once done coughing, he wiped his mouth and took a sip of coffee, eying the hotcakes. “You don’t know the entire story, Sandy, so don’t judge me yet. Can we talk about this later?”

Standing she smoothed her skirt with a sniff. “Enjoy those hotcakes. They might just be the last ones I bring you for a very long time.” With that, she turned and walked out with a swish of her hand dismissing anything he might have said.

With a put upon sigh, Jensen dropped his head to the desk. Sandy had every reason in the world to be irritated with him right now. He’d made her a promise when he’d relocated from LA to Boston. There were going to be divorces, cheating spouses, and maybe a few missing persons, but there were not to be any murders or murderers. He’d promised if it even looked like murder was involved he’d turn it over to the local authorities. He’d managed to keep that promise for two years and now…

“Jeez, man, what the hell did you do to piss off Irish?”

Lifting his head, he forgot about promises and hotcakes focusing on one of his best friends. Someone he hadn’t seen since moving to Boston two years before. He stood pushing back the chair and strode across the room, wrapping his arms around the other man in a bear hug.

“Chris.” He growled before pulling back to take his friend in from the red bandana and long hair to the faded, tattered jeans and snakeskin boots. “God you’re a sight for sore eyes, dude.”

At first glance most folks wouldn’t have thought Chris Kane and Jensen Ackles would run in the same circles much less be best friends. He was a musician lost somewhere between country and rockabilly, doing his own thing, thick shoulder length dark hair held back by a wide red bandana. Exquisite blue eyes held a hard edge in an otherwise handsome face and despite the toughness of his stance; he was shorter than one would think at first.

Chris raised one eyebrow, taking in Jensen with a discerning eye and snorted. “What kind of shit you get yourself into this time, Jen?”

“What makes you think…?”

He slapped Jensen on the back as he walked past him into the office. “Damn, boy, you’d think by now you’d know you can’t hide shit from me.” he paused in front of Jensen’s desk, dropped his bag to the polished marble floor, and let out an amazed laugh as he stared out at the panoramic view. “This is one hell of an upgrade from your humble beginnings.”

“Well, Sandy’s been a huge help.” Jensen joined him as he moved to the window. “By the way, Chris, do not let Sandy catch you calling her Irish. She fucking hates it.”

Chris turned from the window studying Jensen’s profile. “Okay, I’ll make you a deal. I don’t call little girl Irish, but you need to spill the beans.”

He shook his head in amusement. Chris had always been a bit of a bully when it came to getting what he wanted. The greatest of manipulators his lover, Steve, had said once upon a time, long before they’d all found their places in this world as crazy as it might be. Jensen didn’t know where to begin even.

“This is about Jay isn’t it,” Chris dipped his head trying to catch Jensen’s elusive gaze.

“When isn’t it?” he glanced up eyes shining in the overhead light. “From the moment Genevieve walked into my office it’s been about him. Hell, even before then it was, but I simply didn’t know it. All I ever knew was there was a hole inside me and no matter how hard I tried it was impossible to fill.”

“What happened, Jen?” reaching out Chris squeezed his shoulder, the tremor of muscles obvious beneath his calloused palm. “Damn, you’re about to jump out of your skin. What the hell is going on and do I need to open a can of Texas whoop ass on that boy?”

Jensen snorted. “This isn’t Jay’s fault so you can save that can of whoop ass for later, okay.” He ran his hand over his face feeling older than his years. “Look, something came up. To be honest I don’t know if I’m about to open a door I won’t be able to close.”

Without a word, Chris nudged him away from the windows to the leather sofa across the room, pushed him down, and then went to the mini bar, pouring both he and Jensen a couple of fingers of whiskey. Returning he held out a glass to Jensen and waited for him to accept. They stared at one another for what seemed an eternity before Jensen cleared his throat.

“Chris,” he sighed, “it’s nine in the fucking morning.”

Chris lifted one eyebrow with a derisive snort. “Well, it’s happy hour somewhere in the world and it’s time to saddle up cowboy.”

Hesitant, Jensen took the glass and tossed it back in one swallow. The last thing he wanted was to fall back into old habits he’d tried to bury, but before he even started talking to Chris about any of this, he needed a damn drink.

“Whoa, there, man. I said saddle up not stampede across the river with the entire herd. What’s got you wound so tight?”

“A woman.” he replied.

That had Chris dropping to the sofa and tossing his whiskey as quick as Jensen had tossed his. “Are you fucking with me—a woman?”

Jensen threw back his head with a booming laugh. “Damn, Chris, it isn’t like that. You know I gave up after Danni, admitted who I was, and moved on. This particular woman is an FBI agent, one out of the BSU at Quantico.”

Sitting his empty glass on the coffee table, Chris fell against the cushions, hands scrubbing at his face. “Let me guess; the fucker in the papers. What did they call him…?”

“The Hunter,” Jensen offered.

“Yeah, that was it. Some sick fucker who’s been murdering college girls. I’m guessing she’s one of those people you’ve been avoiding since LA.”

Jensen nodded. “She came to see me yesterday morning and I turned her down. Didn’t want to get involved, but after last night I don’t have a choice.”

“What happened last night?”

He swallowed hard, image of that damnable box flashing through his mind. A part of him wanted to run, again. What had that gotten him the last time though? Nothing, not a damn thing because here he was again facing a twisted excuse for a human against his will.

“It’s a long fucking story, Chris.”

Chris offered a rare smile of understanding. “I got nowhere to be, dude.”

 

Jared sat staring at the canvas before him, sunlight streaming through the skylight above as if the heavens had decided to spotlight the horror of the image. His fingers tightened around the brush in his hand, bristles dripping with crimson paint. It was his nightmare all over again created in the shards of his shattered psyche and painted with a shaking hand.

Against a background of ebony was a single figure in shades of gray and black, face hidden from view by a heavy hood. Even with the face hidden, Jared could feel the eyes focused on him. Below the figure was another image, a nude girl with red hair spread against a silver-gray table, skin porcelain white, and eyes wide, unseeing. He knew she was dead, but this time it wasn’t Molly. This wasn’t the innocent girl he’d seen in his dreams last night no this was a different girl, older.

When he’d realized he’d painted a different girl he’d started screaming until he couldn’t scream, world blurring around him. As everything came back into focus he realized he’d covered the entire thing in a huge jagged heart, painted in a vivid crimson he didn’t recall mixing. His own heart was beating wild in his chest, pulse like the beating of a caged bird’s wings against the inside of his skull. It thundered in his temples and threatened to explode his head into bloody chunks.

“Blood.” he whispered to the empty room. “It’s all about the blood and the hearts are the source of the blood flow. Why though?”

His fingers began to spasm, brush falling to the floor, and paint splattering like blood across the dark wood. Tears welled in his eyes as he stood, grabbing the still damp canvas and throwing it across the room with all the strength he could muster. The frame shattered on impact, twisting and the wood pierced the canvas right at the center of the painted heart.

“What do you want from me?” he shrieked to the heavens and fell on his knees. “Why show this to me if I can’t save them?”

His body shuddered with the grief and anger welling up from the deepest recesses of his wounded soul. Seconds later, he lowered to the ground curling into a fetal position and wept like a baby.

It was too much. He was only one man and a broken man at that. Why cursed to see, but never to save? When would he ever find the peace he’d sought for so fucking long?

 

Because, Jared, you weren’t the only one who needed to be saved.

The voice was faint, spring breeze blown across fields scented by rainbow colored wildflowers. He lifted his head, scrubbing tears and snot from his flushed face with his shirtsleeve. If there was one thing he hated more than anything it was crying, he’d sworn long ago never to shed a tear in front of another human being. Jensen though had seen his tears, comforted him at his worse, and yet he’d refused until last night to share his darkest memories.

He swallowed back the growing thickness in his throat. “Who’s there?”

As he sat up, gaze drifting to the easel lying on its side, sunlight glinted off the metal hinges sending sparks of silver through the air hazy with motes of dust. The dust seemed to dance in circles and he tried to convince himself it was nothing except an illusion created by vision blurred, tears clouding his eyes.

It wasn’t though.

This wasn’t the first time he’d seen this.

They congregated, forming a shape, the outline of a human—hazy and yet familiar to him as his own. Jared shook his head and pushed across the floor on hands and heels, body beginning to shake once more. The first time he’d witnessed this inexplicable vision had been the first time Robert Cortese had tortured and raped him. Left naked and bloody on the floor of the motel room, surrounded by the money that had bought his body. He’d thought he was dying. The woman appeared as if from the air itself angel of death arrived from Heaven to collect his soul.

She’d been dressed in a flowing gown composed of sunlight, hair drifting on the faint current from the air conditioner like twisted strands of night. Gliding across the faded carpet, she had knelt next to him as he tried to speak through swollen lips stained with blood. She’d spoken to him, but not in the traditional way, he’d heard her voice inside his head, filled with compassion and gentle as the brush of butterfly wings.

“Lindsey.” Her name was a terrified benediction on his lips.

She smiled at him, eyes shimmering with what appeared to be tears. Jared wanted to scream again, but his voice was shredded. Lindsey had told him the first time she appeared she was no angel of death. Rather she was a spirit guide. Once upon time she’d been human and now she had elevated to another plane where she guided those who needed her on the earthly plane.

You always ask and the answer is always the same, Jared. The Creator chose you because you are an empathetic soul, filled with love and light, and yet you possess an understanding of pain and suffering like no other. Gifted from the moment you slipped from your mother’s womb and I have walked with you from the beginning.

“I don’t want it. I’m so tired, Lindsey. Why can’t I find peace?”

She drifted towards him, form shifting in a chiaroscuro that would shame the greatest Renaissance artists. She knelt down as she had the first time ethereal fingers sending a tremor along his jaw and she offered him a sad smile.

Sweet boy, ask the other one. The one with whom you visited when you tread the path between life and death. She may help you understand even more than I can. If peace you seek, then you must save the final victim as someone saved you once.

Before Jared could say another word, she pulled back into the sunlight and vanished as if she had never existed. He sat there desperate to fill his lungs with air. He didn’t understand everything she’d told him, but he did get some of it. His memories weren’t as clear as they could be of the time he’d spent trapped in the spiritual borderland neither dead nor alive, but he did recall one thing.

He remembered a beautiful woman with dark hair, bright smile, and green eyes. Surrounded by a rainbow aura curling around and through her. The blues had been so intense they reminded him of an indigo Texas night and she’d seen him—she had seen him when no one else could. She’d believed he was dead at first, a lost spirit, until her partner had pointed out he wasn’t.

“Traci.” He whispered her name as he sat watching the sunlight shift and fade.

Her name rolled off his tongue repeatedly, eyes focused on the square of darkening sky. He continued whispering her name, her face clearer with each repetition until it seemed he was looking through a window straight at her. Except her hair was different than he recalled; short, not long, curling around her face, and highlighting her superb cheekbones.

He watched as she sat surround by lush green plants, shuffling cards, and then the image shifted. She turned as if she sensed him and he met her gaze, eyes intense and filled with shock.

“Traci, help me.” He whispered. “Help me. I need you.”

 

Thousands of miles away in Venice Beach, Traci Dinwiddie sat in the private garden behind the shop she ran with Loretta, her business partner and mentor. At one elbow sat a glass of ice tea and in her hands she shuffled playing cards, it was a habit she’d picked up years ago as a young girl dealing with the shocking revelation she could speak to the spirits of the dead. It helped calm and focus her in ways nothing else had. As the years passed she’d began to shuffle the cards even when she tried to sort common problems.

Mesmerized by the movement of her fingers over the glossy surface of the cards she’d lost track of time. Loretta had left for the local grocer promising to come for her when she returned and leaving her to her own devices. In the time Loretta had been gone she’d started contemplating her love life. Recently, she’d met a wonderful girl, but there was one problem—wonder girl was a jealous creature. Traci had decided she needed to break it off, but when she’d called the number was disconnected and she’d vanished without a trace. Maybe she’d known Traci was tired of fighting. Who the fuck knew, but Traci hadn’t cared in the least for the way it had ended.

A faint breeze stirred the leaves around her sending a chill along her spine and she dropped the deck of cards with a gasp as she turned. There sitting not five feet from her was a familiar figure, sprawled on the brick.

“Jared.” She whispered as the cards scattered across the bricks.

He was pale, eyes filled with tears, and his lips were moving although she couldn’t hear what he was saying. She sat frozen to the spot as the image faded away. Beneath her skin, the rapid rhythm of her heart vibrated through her body until it pierced the marrow of her bones like a dagger of ice.

It was impossible.

Jared was alive and almost three thousand miles across the country, yet she’d seen him right there. Something was wrong. Traci knew it in her gut without one lick of hesitation. She stood on wobbly legs and looked down at the scattered cards. Leaning down she started to pick them up, but paused at what she noticed. All the cards had landed face down with the exception of a single card.

Lying at her feet, bottom of the card pointed west, was the five of hearts.

Five of hearts, she thought. It had to mean something.

Stretching out one hand, she squatted down and lifted the card from the ground, only to drop it as quick as she’d picked it up.

It was cold as ice and stiff to the touch.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the delay getting this chapter up. Real life can be quite the ass kicker sometimes. Thanks for your patience and all the lovely comments. Hope it was worth the wait!

The nave was silent as always when Emily Perkins entered, dipped her fingers in the font of holy water and crossed herself before moving up the main aisle. She always came before the Evensong and sat in the silence imagining the voices of the parishioners as they rose in prayer. It was to make sure each pew had the proper number of hymnals at least that's what she told the parish priest, but she was sure he knew better after all the years she’d been doing it.

She’d been raised a good Catholic girl, still a virgin after all this time, attending every service no matter the weather and dreaming of the day she would walk down the aisle to wed her soul mate. Perhaps, she was being foolish as her co-workers thought, yet she’d made a solemn promise to her mother as she lay dying from cancer. Emily had only been ten at the time, an only child raised by a single mother, and abandoned by a Godless man who lost his faith exchanging it for a cheap floozy of a secretary according to her mother. Her mother’s faith in God was strong enough to embrace both of them with purity only a blessed woman could possess. After her mother had taken her last breath, an aunt she barely knew raised Emily. Her aunt wasn’t a religious woman and mocked Emily at every turn about her desire to remain pure. It never fazed Emily though. She knew God was real and he and his angels were watching over her every step of the way.

Today the weather was colder, the storms of the past few days having blown the cold winds of the north into the city she’d known as her only home. As she’d entered the church watching the last of the sun tinge the underside of the ominous grey clouds she imagined she’d seen a solitary snowflake drifting down to settle on the dull, damp sidewalk. Her mother had told her once about how each snowflake was unique, no two alike because God’s angels carved each one from their frozen tears. She’d asked her why the angels’ tears were frozen. Even now, her mother’s voice rang clear as the church’s bells tolling the hour inside her head.

“Because my precious girl, if they are frozen they last longer. Frozen they remind humanity of their sins and those who whisper even in the dead of night the truth of their salvation in their dreams.”

It never occurred to Emily her mother was a lost soul; a woman scorned by the man to which both her heart and soul had been promised. Only later to discover herself abandoned as if she were trash. Her mother had sank into the vellum pages of a so-called holy book that promised her shattered mind and heart a better place beyond this wounded existence, a promise like a double-edged sword. One she understood to promise vengeance against the man who’d abandoned her and their child all those years ago. Words that promised when he descended into the afterlife the flames of Hell awaited him.

Emily had not thought about it, but the Hunter had.

This was why the Hunter had chosen her.

Destroying innocence was the point. Turning purity and sanctity into horror and disease, this was the point. Soon, Emily would understand the truth of the Hunter’s mission in a way few ever would. Turning away the Hunter descended into the shadows of the choir loft and vanished from the church Emily’s horrified screams echoing through the silence of the nave.

 

Somehow, Chris discovered himself pulled into the mess that was Jensen’s life. Well, if he were honest it wasn’t something he would have walked away from not in a million years. Jensen was the best friend he’d ever had. If it weren’t for Jensen his life would have been missing one huge part—Steve. It was Jensen, who finally had enough of his impersonation of Tiny Tim tip toeing through the bloody tulips, and told him to either shit or get off the pot when it came to Steve. 

He owed Jensen—pure and simple—for making him man up and admit how much he loved Steve. For a crusty, over compensating, Texas cowboy it was a difficult thing to exit the closet and kiss the shock off Steve’s face.

As he stood staring at the mess of papers spread over every available surface of the office including the floor, he wondered what Steve would say when he discovered his lover getting into the middle of a serial murder investigation. Hell, Steve would probably pat him on the back, scream at him for being an idiot, and then blow him against a convenient wall. Such was the crazy his life had become. Of course, he wouldn’t trade Steve or their life together for anything. Crazy was amazing.

The vibration of the cell at his hip shocked him back to reality as he unclipped it and checked the caller ID. Speaking of crazy—

“Hey, babe.” he grinned as he moved out into the hall, careful not to disturb the papers haphazardly scattered across the floor. “What’s up?”

“I thought you were just taking Jensen to lunch.”

Chris knew that tone all too well. He glanced down at his watch and cursed himself for an idiot. “Sorry…I lost track of time.” He mumbled.

“Don’t apologize.” Steve laughed. “Jen called me three hours ago and explained.”

He glanced back over his shoulder to where Jensen and Misha hunched over the desk talking in low whispers. Misha he didn’t know that well, but he did know the man had helped Jensen back in Los Angeles. He also knew from the scattered phone calls he’d had over the past couple of years that Jensen trusted him implicitly.

“What did he tell you?”

“That you insisted on getting involved in something you shouldn’t get involved in.”

“Steve, please don’t…”

“Don’t what—worry myself sick, Chris? We’re fucking musicians not detectives and not cops. That’s Jensen’s world not ours.”

He ran his free hand over his face as he began to pace the hall. “He’s my friend and he needs my help.”

“Yes, he’s our friend, but he has Misha—and what about Jared?”

Chris frowned. “I haven’t seen, Jared. Actually, he barely spoke about him. Do you think…?”

Before he could finish the thought, Jensen and Misha came barreling out of the office yanking their coats on. He twisted around and let out a sharp whistle as they came damn close to knocking him over. “What the fuck, Jen?”

Skidding to a halt, Jensen glanced back with a frown. “Go back to the hotel or wherever you’re staying, Chris. Tell Steve I’m sorry about making you late.”

Chris stood there for a moment, mouth open as Jensen vanished around the corner after Misha without further explanation. He’d spent the entire afternoon helping them sort out paperwork and information as it came in from Jensen’s sources and this was how they repaid him. He was pissed. Forget pissed. He was beyond pissed and all he could think was that some big shit was hitting the fan.

He was about to take off after them when he realized Steve was still on the phone and he groaned as he lifted it to his ear, “Sorry, babe.”

“Cut the crap, Chris. What the hell is going on down there?”

Shaking his head, Chris let out a put upon sigh. “Don’t have a clue, but I know it’s something big.”

On the other end of the line, Steve cleared his throat. “Then you need to find out and call me back.”

“Why?” Chris’ eyebrow shot up.

“Because, asshole, if you’re in so the fuck am I. Now get your ass in gear.”

The line went dead and Chris snorted. Leave it up to Steve, the most reasonable, to decide where this little side trip was heading. So much for vacation, the shit was definitely hitting the fan.

 

At either end of St. James Avenue between Dartmouth and Clarendon Streets what appeared to be a media circus interspersed with police and emergency vehicles had caused a flood of chaos in Back Bay. Traffic had been diverted, crime scene tape and officers spread out to cover the entire block. Reporters from every television and radio station in Boston were congregating almost faster than the police could put up barriers not surprising since Boston had the largest broadcasting market in New England.

Alongside both television and radio personalities, were reporters from the Globe, Herald, and every other publication in the greater metropolitan area including Siglo21 from nearby Lawrence. It was chaos in the greatest sense of the word and Jensen didn’t have the patience for any of it. What should have taken only a few minutes had taken nearly an hour as he darted through the streets toward Back Bay and Trinity Church. Of all places for this to happen, he thought. Trinity Church was the location of another victim of the elusive Hunter. Smith had warned him in her brief call it had turned into Cirque de Soleil a mere twenty minutes after the call had come in from Trinity Church.

Managing to get through the crowds, Jensen brought the Impala to a screeching halt along Clarendon the nearest cross street to the church and Copley Square where the majestic old church stood an island of history amidst the more modern skyscrapers of steel and glass. In the passenger seat, Misha gave him the evil eye when he nearly ended up head first in the windshield as they stopped, but Jensen could have gave a shit less about hurt feelings or concussions. Two victims in the same number of days a definite sign the Hunter was escalating.

Exiting the car, he searched the massive crowd eyes narrowed, and spotted Smith standing in front of the church pacing the sidewalk amidst a sea of black and gold clad officers. He waved Misha to follow and headed into the crowd not in the least worried whether his partner was keeping pace. The man had been FBI and LAPD so there was no need for him to have a babysitter in Jensen’s opinion.

What seemed hours, but in reality was mere minutes passed before he reached the barricades and flashed his ID telling the nearest officer Smith was expecting him and his partner. Said partner stood at his elbow flashing his own credentials with a less than pleased expression when he spotted Smith heading their way with a wave, cell pressed to her left ear. No doubt, she was checking in with whatever SAC she was working with this time. One never knew when it came to the BSU who might be in charge.

On her arrival at the barrier, a look of shock appeared in her eyes when she spotted Misha making her clear her throat. “Thank god you made it, Jensen.” She glanced back at the one man she hadn’t expected to see. “Thanks for coming, Misha.” Her voice softened as she spoke his name.

Eyes narrowed he slipped between the barriers and glanced from her to Jensen. “I’m not doing this for you or even Jensen. I’m doing this for my son and Vicki. You do remember my wife and son—don’t you.”

Smith’s face blanched as she turned away. “I never forgot, despite what you might think.”

He didn’t bother staying long enough to hear her whispered words, but Jensen did hear them. He also saw the sheen of unshed tears in her eyes and he wondered what it was that had happened between her and Misha. The desire to ask was stronger than he’d like to admit, but he knew it was none of his business. Now though the only thing he needed to be concerned with was what waited for them in the church.

Jensen was damned sure he wasn’t going to like it one fucking bit.

 

Jared woke curled in a tight ball on the floor of his studio, salty crust of his tears clotting his eyelashes and staining his cheeks. He’d seen Traci. It was the first thing that popped in his head as he pushed up joints aching from lying there for so long. The room was pitch-dark, night sky void of any stars from above through the skylight.

He forced himself to sit up, back braced against the bed, and took in the disastrous results of his earlier meltdown. Jensen would have a fit when he saw the mess. At least that was what he told himself, it was how he convinced himself to get up and clean it up before Jensen returned. Jared knew he hadn’t returned yet. The house was silent below and he’d been lying here asleep, exhausted, and no blanket. If Jensen had come home and found him like this…well he knew he hadn’t.

Leaning heavy on the edge of the mattress, he forced his legs up beneath him and settled on the wrinkled covers with a sigh. He needed to tell Jensen the truth, not bits and pieces, but the entire truth. Jensen was different from any of the others. There had been others except none of them had believed him. He didn’t count Genevieve among them. She’d been a different page in the never-ending horror story of his life. Genevieve was the single page of what he’d hoped would make the difference between a King novel and a Cartland romance.

Normalcy, he thought. She’d been his one and only chance at a normal life with marriage, children, and hope for a brighter future that might include his family. It hadn’t been destined to be. Her brother had made sure of that, yet now he had Jensen and he should be grateful. Should be was the emphasis on the past two years. He couldn’t bring himself to hope again though.

Glancing around, he spotted his cane leaning against the headboard a mere couple of feet away. He sighed and began to slide across the bed, blankets scrunching up beneath his ass as he did. Ty and Devon, his physical therapists, both said he underestimated what he was capable of, but he still clung to the idea he was broken.

Over the past year, Devon had been the more vocal of the two even going as far as to piss off Ty by calling him an enabler. Jared wasn’t an idiot. He knew whatever kept him crippled was mental it wasn’t physical not that he’d ever admit it aloud to himself or anyone. Maybe that was why Jensen didn’t push him as hard as Devon did on a daily basis. He knew Jensen loved him, yet he felt Devon understood him better than anyone else he knew did.

Once he’d reached the headboard, he grasped his cane and lunged to his feet his head spinning from the sudden surge. He leaned heavy on the cane for a moment as the room ceased to spin and then started toward the door. As he did his gaze settled on the table, where paints, brushes, and bottles of linseed oil sat and spotted his cell. The urge to talk to someone other than his lover (if you could call Jensen that) came over him. He recalled a few weeks ago, after a particularly grueling session, how Devon had snatched his phone and programmed her personal number in for him.

 

She glanced up from beneath tangled bangs with worried eyes. “Look, Jay, I know you’re trying your best, but I also know sometimes even the ones we love don’t get it. I’ve been there. The pain can be excruciating at times worse than any physical wound. I don’t normally do this, but you’re special. So, if you need to talk…anytime day or night give me a buzz, big fella.”

 

She’d seemed sincere and Jared had thought of calling her a few times over the past few weeks. Ty had convinced him it was a bad idea, an overlapping of two parts of his life that might cause further tension rather than solve anything.

 

“Jay, you know she has a crush on you—right? She’s a great physical therapist and a fun woman to be around, but one of the first rules they teach you when getting in the medical field is never mix business with pleasure. It’s a big fucking no-no, dude, huge in fact.”

 

Jared wasn’t one to follow rules. He’d said fuck the rules after a bastard who was more warden than father for seventeen years had kicked him out on the street and then there’d been Lehn. God help him he’d gone from one prison to another. Escaping from Lehn had been the first blessing in a life of incessant pain. He inhaled through his nose the dull throb of a migraine beginning causing his vision to blur as he stared at the screen of his phone. Maybe Ty was right, but he needed to talk and Jensen wasn’t here this time to save him from his morbid thoughts.

Thumb sliding over the screen, he scrolled through the numbers to Devon’s and took a calming breathe before he hit call. Damn the rules and damn himself for being a weak excuse for a man and an even weaker excuse for a partner.

 

Jensen stepped into the church fully expecting a bolt of lightning to strike him dead considering his lifestyle choice as ignorant people called it. He hadn’t been past the doors of a church since he’d come out to his parents back in Texas. It had been difficult for him to say the least since the church was a big part of his childhood. He’d believed in a loving God who accepted all his children with loving arms when he was younger. Now he believed in nothing beyond the self-important attitudes of the people walking past him on the street.

He stared up at the towering ceiling, gaze traveling to the front where five exquisitely detailed stained glass windows looked down on the altar. He imagined how it might look if the Evensong had taken place as it was scheduled, the glow of candles reflected in the windows and along the golden walls. How the flames of the candles would’ve set the gold cross above the altar aflame with their ethereal light, the voices of the parishioners lifting toward the vaulted ceiling in awe and worship.

It would have been beautiful, but there was nothing beautiful about this sacrilegious horror surrounded by neon yellow tape.

He swallowed hard, bile rising in the back of his throat as he walked down the main aisle toward the altar. His heart began to thunder in his chest and tears burned his eyes as he fought them. No matter how those in the church had treated him after he opened up to who he was there remained a part of him that respected places of worship. This sick bastard respected nothing and no one.

A sea of officers parted as he passed, his ID held up as if to shield him from what waited beyond in the bright light of the spotlights instead of the beauty of candlelight and love. Jensen didn’t want to see. God how he wished he didn’t have to see. Stomach roiling he stopped, eyes drifting shut.

“Are you okay, Jensen?”

His eyes opened to focus on Misha’s exhausted face, worry clear in his bright blue eyes. “Yes…no…I don’t know.” He finally admitted. “Is it like the first ones?”

Misha cocked his head to the side, studying him as if he were a bug under a microscope. “Yes, she’s been prepared like the others with the exception of one thing.”

God help him he didn’t want to ask. He had two choices though; ask the question or see for himself. Neither was an option he wanted. Hell, all he wanted was to go back to how it had been three days ago. Sure, Jared and he had been ignorant of a few secrets, but anything was better than seeing another young woman dead. Wasn’t it?

Taking another breath, he pinched the bridge of his nose. “What’s changed?”

“There was a message left for you.”

He glanced up, “Another card like the one at the house?”

Misha shook his head and then stepped to the side.

God help me, Jensen thought as he started walking again. From the corner of his eye, he saw the black clad officers watching his passage, their voices lowering as they whispered to one another. He knew what they were thinking. He would have thought the same thing if he’d been in their shoes.

What did he have to do with this monster? Did he know something he wasn’t sharing about the man who’d murdered four young women?

Jensen couldn’t blame them for the suspicious glances.

When he reached the altar, it took him a minute to realize what he was seeing. The human mind was an amazing thing. His brain wanted to shut down, it wanted to find some alternative explanation for the horror laid out for the world to see.

A woman, naked, skin removed, and her chest stitched shut. Her arms spread out as if in worship, now extinguished tea light candles centered in each upturned palm. The once pristine altar smeared with blood above her hairless skull amidst a flurry of sweet scented flowers, tuberoses.

His eyes traced the bloody smears and slowly his mind realized they were letters. He swallowed back the bile that now burned his tongue as the letters began to form words in his head. Hands dropping to his sides, his fingers clenched in fists so hard his knuckles blanched bone white.

 

Innocence Burned Away in the Poison Rain

 

As the words settled in, he stepped back, and his throat closed up. This bastard wanted him here. He wanted Jensen to see why he was doing this. He wanted to mock him in the most evil and sickening way he could.

Jensen dropped to his knees as Misha rushed forward and he began to weep like a child.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sincerest apologies for the delay in posting this chapter. I won't go into too much detail, but I've been having issues with one of my legs, painful issues. No sleepy from pain...no writing accomplished. Two weeks of no sleep, struggling to continue working, and now here I am posting this in the middle of the bloody night with a brace on said leg.
> 
> Hoping I will be posting more this weekend, but I hope this chapter was worth the wait. Blessed be.

Samantha Smith had witnessed more than most people her age. Those around her would have said it was due to her career choice, but as she’d told Detective Fuller her career had been nowhere even close to a choice. If she’d had a choice, she would have never chosen this. Who in their right mind would?

It had taken her a blink of an eye to clear out the crime scene when she’d seen Jensen on his knees head bowed in front of that fucking altar. Now the church was empty except for her, Jensen, and the man—who to this day—was the source of her biggest regret. She stood staring down at the body of Amanda Righetti or rather what was left of the woman in question. To date Ms. Righetti was the oldest of the Hunter’s victims and with her death, he’d returned to his previous MO.

She glanced over her shoulder to where Misha Collins sat next to his partner and from the looks of it close friend although she was amazed to think that. After the death of Vicki and his son, he’d closed everyone out. The people who’d been closest to him had found themselves left out in the cold. When mandatory leave had accomplished nothing he’d resigned and disappeared into the ether. A year after he vanished, Samantha had heard through the grapevine he’d taken a position in Los Angeles with the homicide division with the help of a few favors he’d called in back in Washington. He was a good man and a better investigator, the FBI had lost a valuable asset when he resigned, but then being a part of the BSU sometimes wasn’t a long-term career. To make matters worse he was one of the few special ones recruited straight from college.

“Why?” She whispered.

Misha glanced up from where he sat one arm curled around his friend’s broad shoulders. “Why what?” voice gritty, eyes red-rimmed from lack of sleep or from the alcohol she was all too damn familiar with.

She turned arms folded over her chest, “His MO. Why change the MO and then switch back to the previous one? It makes absolutely no sense.”

“Confusion tactic?” he raised one eyebrow.

“This late in the game?” she began pacing in front of the altar glancing between the horror spread out there and the spotless floor. “Maybe Molly wasn’t a victim of the Hunter, maybe we have a copycat?”

He shook his head. “Not a chance in hell. The bastard left her heart on Jensen’s front porch and it was no coincidence he chose to do so right after you came to recruit him. You know it’s him as well as I do, Sam.”

Stopping she glanced at the body, stomach roiling. Misha was right no matter how much she wanted to deny it. No serial killer she’d ever run into in her career had done something like this one had and it bugged the fuck out of her. There had been a reason for the 360 and yet it made absolutely no sense whatsoever. What it boiled down to was one thing—he had a bone to pick with Jensen Ackles.

“Ackles, is there anyone you can think of who would have a grudge against you big enough they would go to these lengths?”

She turned to face the man who’d remained silent through the entire conversation and eyed him as if everything would become clear as crystal. He lifted his head, eyes red-rimmed from the tears he’d shed in silence. There was a fury in his eyes she hadn’t seen when he’d warned her against upsetting his partner again. She waited sure that when he spoke he would explode—he didn’t though. His voice was lamb’s wool soft, yet the pulse of the nerves in his jaw told an entirely different story.

“Do you think for a single second if I had a clue about why this bastard pulled me into this I would remain silent? I left the LAPD because of the bullshit when it came to punishing people like this so-called Hunter. I’m not about to start keeping shit to myself simply because I’m afraid of what you or the entire Boston PD might think of me or my fucking past.”

She had to give him prompts for keeping his cool with her. Jensen was an intelligent man, not one to be pulling crap as Fuller had when they found Molly Quinn’s body. It wasn’t a matter of him holding back information, but rather him knowing something he wasn’t even aware he knew. The Hunter had discovered somehow she’d gone to Jensen for help, maybe the bastard had known she would all along. Maybe the plan was to get him involved from the beginning. She knew she needed to select her next words with care or Jensen would forget his mama had raised him to respect women.

Taking a calming breath, she met his steely gaze. “It’s not like that.”

He stepped forward, ignoring Misha’s warning tug on his sleeve. “Then how is it, lady? Explain to me why some psychotic murderer is focused on getting my attention no matter how many bodies it takes.”

“I don’t know.” She admitted gaze never leaving his face.

Jensen’s sudden laugh startled her as he spun, arms lifted in the air as if in prayer to some higher being. “You hear that?” he questioned. “She doesn’t fucking know!”

“Jensen, you need to calm down.” Misha whispered. “This isn’t doing anyone any good.”

His head whipped around so hard, Sam was sure his neck would break as the fury she’d seen was unleashed on the other man. “You have your fucking nerve! You hate her. You buried your head in a damn bottle as soon as she was out of eyeshot.”

“And I’m sober now you dick!” Misha snarled between clenched teeth.

Jensen’s shoulders slumped forward eyes lowering to the floor, two spots of color blooming on his cheeks. He knew he was being a dick, but seeing that girl laid out like nothing more than a slab of meat, had pierced his gut like a razor sharp blade. The heart had been bad enough, but this was far worse.

“I’m sorry.”

Misha sighed and stepped closer, his expression softening. “Don’t be. This has to be hard for you.”

“Hard doesn’t begin to describe this. I thought I was out of this. I thought Jared and I were safe here, but now…God, I don’t know what to fucking think.”

Sam looked at the way the two men drew close and for a second a thought crossed her mind. Los Angeles had been a cluster fuck for Jensen and later Jared. She’d done her research. She knew how Julian Cortese had hired the biggest PR firm in the country to work damage control for his family after his son Robert’s death. Not to mention there were at least ten politicians across four states hung out to dry when the cops got their hands on Jared’s ledger.

“Could this have something to do with what happened back in Los Angeles?”

Jensen turned releasing a ragged breath. “Julian Cortese was grateful for what I did even if it nearly destroyed his family.”

She eyed him for a second. “How could he be grateful? You killed his son in front of the entire family.”

Misha stepped between the two of them. “Look, Sam, animosity aside I need you to understand one thing. Jensen is an honorable man…he has no reason to lie about it.”

“I’m not questioning his honor. I’m simply having a difficult time believing this doesn’t have something to do with Los Angeles.” She glanced at Jensen. “When you came to Boston did you know anyone here?”

He shook his head. “Sandy was the only one of us who knew anyone here. She’s from here, grew up here, but she’d parted from her family to move to Los Angeles.”

“I’m aware of Sandy and her connections here, but you didn’t know anyone?”

“No.”

“Did Jared?”

“No.”

“What about your employee Alona Tal?”

“No.”

“What about your friend James Beaver?”

Jensen’s face flushed. “Damn it, I said no! Sandy was it. She helped us set everything up, helped Jared and I find a house, she did everything she could to help out.”

“None of this makes sense. This bastard made a concerted effort to go out of his way and get you involved in this case. Why?”

A snort escaped Jensen. “Why did you come to me?”

She averted her eyes to the marble floor, staring at the toes of her boots. “I’ve been following your career since Los Angeles. Since everything went down with Cortese.”

“Excuse me?”

Looking up from the floor she sighed and ran her fingers through her hair, frustration etched in the lines around her eyes and mouth. “I’ve been with the BSU since I graduated from college. I was one of the FBI’s recruits straight out of school just like Misha. There was one difference though between him and I though. I had an abnormal interest in the paranormal.”

“The paranormal?” he started to laugh. “You were serious about that shit? You really believe Jared and I have some unnatural connection?”

Shaking her head, she sighed, “No, not unnatural, Jensen. What you and he have together it’s amazing. I just wish you realized how amazing.”

He held up one hand. “I’m sorry I can’t have this conversation, not now and especially not here.” His gaze flitted to the lifeless body of the young girl on the altar behind her. “I need to go. I’ll meet you back at the car, Misha—okay?”

Before either of them could stop him, Jensen was gone, leaving them alone in the church. Samantha knew she’d fucked up. She shouldn’t have called him to the crime scene, shouldn’t have allowed him to see the handy work of the sick bastard who’d dragged him kicking and screaming into her world. Yes, Jensen had been a cop and now he was a private eye, but he’d tried to get away from the bloodshed. It wasn’t for himself alone, but for the love of the young man who’d introduced him to what he’d described as unnatural. She’d travelled from one side of the country to the other. Hell, she’d travelled to other countries in search of someone like herself, someone who knew both sides of existence—life and death. And, now to her surprise she’d found what she’d sought her entire life right in front of her. The only problem was he had a man who was willing to do anything to protect him from what he was.

 

Jared sat staring past his reflection in the window of Boston Common Coffee watching the evening traffic along Washington and wondered if he should just get a cab back home before Devon arrived. This had been a mistake. He should be at home waiting for Jensen, maybe cooking a nice dinner, and then they could talk. After what happened earlier though, he couldn’t stay in the house, not alone.

He glanced down at the table and realized he’d shredded the napkin in his hands to miniscule pieces of fluff. It looked as if it had snowed on the table and Jared couldn’t help the choked laugh that escaped from between his lips. Just as he believed he was going to lose his grip, the server (Val was her name) who’d seated him reappeared with a worried expression and a plate. She sat the plate down next to his half-emptied coffee cup and offered him a gentle smile.

“You seemed so sad I thought maybe…” she tipped her head toward the plate.

He looked down at the warm croissant dripping with butter and blinked.

“Blueberry,” she offered. “It’s my favorite. You’d think chocolate would be the better choice, but…” she shrugged as he glanced back at her.

“Thank you.” He whispered.

Her smile widened a bit. “No need. Just enjoy. I’ll be back with fresh coffee.”

After she vanished into the crowd, Jared turned his attention back to the window, croissant forgotten. He knew she was simply trying to be kind, but even this tiny kindness wasn’t enough to wash away the pain eating him away from the inside out.

He started to get up, pay the bill, and leave when he saw Devon darting across the street toward the coffee shop. Too damn late to change his mind now, he thought. She’d see him before he had a chance to leave.

The doors swung open, cold breeze swirling through the shop, and Devon scanned the crowd. From across the room their eyes met and she smiled wide, one hand lifting to wave at him as the other unwound the plaid scarf wrapped around her throat. He waved back trying his damnedest to offer a smile back. From her expression though, he realized he’d failed miserably.

“Jared!” she called out as she approached the table. 

“Hey.” He settled back in his seat and reached for the forgotten croissant simply to have something to do with his hands. “I’m sorry to call you…I just…” he stared down at the croissant as he began to pull it apart.

“Don’t apologize.” She shook her head, ponytail bouncing as she shucked off the navy pea coat she wore and tossed it into the corner of the booth along with her purse. “I told you anytime and I meant it.”

Jared snorted as he popped a piece of the croissant in his mouth. He had no idea what to say now she was here. What could he say that wouldn’t make her think he was either insane or a fool? He’d never shared Lindsey’s existence with anyone not even Jensen.

Washing down the croissant with what remained of his lukewarm coffee, Jared glanced up into Devon’s concerned eyes. “Do you ever feel like angels are real?”

A single eyebrow rose as she waved their server over. “Angels?”

“Yeah,” he lowered the empty coffee cup. “You know like guardian angels.”

Right then the server appeared by the table. “What can I get you, ma’am?”

She never looked away, eyes focused on his, “Coffee black and a cranberry-orange scone.”

“Would you like more coffee, sir?”

Jared nodded and then broke away from Devon’s concerned eyes to look up with a small smile, “Yeah, and could I have another one of these blueberry croissants? They’re amazing, Val.”

Face flushed she tipped her head, “Of course. I’ll be right back, sir.”

“Please, call me Jared.”

“Jared.” She corrected herself and then slipped back through the crowd.

When he turned back to face Devon, she was smiling in amusement. “Do you treat everyone you meet like that?”

“Like what?” he focused on what remained of the croissant.

“As if they’re your best friend.” she shifted in the seat trying to capture his elusive eyes. “It’s refreshing.”

“I didn’t know manners had ever become stale.” Looking up he stared straight into her eyes and this time it was she who turned away to stare out at the street.

They sat in silence for a moment before Jared cleared his throat. “You never answered my question.”

Devon snorted. “In my line of work it’s difficult to believe in guardian angels.”

“Why?”

Shoulders slumping, she continued to stare out the window at the passing cars and pedestrians. She seemed to contemplate his question and then replied with one of her own. “Have you ever seen a child who’s lost their legs because some bastard thought it was okay to drive after a night of too much booze? An all-star teenage athlete who thought he was invincible and ended up breaking his neck?”

“No, I haven’t.”

She offered him a half-hearted smile. “Well, I have and if there was a higher power why would they allow such horrors in the world?”

Devon had a point. He’d wondered such things himself in his darkest moments and then he’d been there—walking the line between life and death. In the darkness he’d discovered a light brighter than the noonday sun; warm and inviting like nothing else he’d ever imagined. It had reached out, brushing his soul like the downy feathers of a baby chick. He’d trembled and reached back, but it had vanished into the ether. With the passage of time, it returned. His light though had been following him for far longer, caught only in glimpses throughout his life. It had taken that final brush for him to understand the light was Jensen. Understanding and accepting though were two separate actions and right at this moment they seemed miles apart.

“You never asked what happened to make me like…this.” He waved at the cane leaning against the table.

“That crutch isn’t the entire story.” She leaned back in the seat as the server reappeared with their order, her words hanging in the air between them until the woman departed.

Jared lifted his cup and stared into the steaming liquid before taking a sip. Again, she was right. The incident that had eventually drawn him and Jensen together was only the tip of the iceberg so to speak. The darkness had been on his trail from the moment he entered this world and it hadn’t given him a moment of peace since. Or maybe it was simply he refused to allow himself that moment of peace.

“Fear is the only thing most of us know.”

He glanced up with knowing eyes. God help him he understood what she meant on an intimate level. Fear had been his constant companion. It was the singular constant in his life, even when he’d been with Genevieve it had lingered in the shadows. Then there was Jensen. The fear should have faded away in the light Jensen brought into his life, but it continued to exist.

“What happened to you?” he asked.

Devon turned away, retrieving her purse to dig through it. “I have no idea what you mean.” She pulled out her wallet, hands shaking.

Reaching across the table, Jared spread one hand over hers pressing them down. “I think you know what I mean. Why did you decide to become a physical therapist—to help others? You’re compassionate, funny, beautiful, and yet…there’s something hiding behind your eyes. Don’t lie to me, Devon. I can feel your hands shaking.”

She went stiff beneath his touch, head lifting until her eyes focused on his face. “Do you believe in love?”

“I do.”

“You shouldn’t. All the heart manages is to call out in a desperate attempt not to be alone. The only thing that answers its cry is fear and then the heart shatters.”

In her eyes was a fear that twisted Jared’s gut in a knot. He’d come here hoping to find someone he could open up to, who he wouldn’t hurt with his confessions. Instead, he’d discovered he wasn’t the only one suffering. How had he not noticed the pain in her eyes before now?

“I’m sorry, Devon. Whatever happened to you it’s not worth the pain you’re holding on too. I can’t imagine not believing in love or what it offers.”

Devon snorted, “Seriously, Jared? You’re the last person I would imagine knew anything about what love offers. You have Jensen—that is his name—right? You have someone who’d die for you, not destroy your dreams.”

She grabbed her scarf and purse, standing and dropped a twenty on the table. “That should cover everything. This was a mistake. I’m sorry. ”

“Devon, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Shaking her head, she wrapped the scarf around her throat and as she lifted one arm, Jared caught a glimpse of a scar above the edge of her turtleneck. Before he could say anything, she finished knotting the scarf and was gone, leaving him standing alone. 

 

Staring out across the city’s bright lights, eyes filled with bitter hatred, the Hunter stood at the window. Jensen should understand by now. The clues had seemed so obvious, so fucking clear, but then Jensen had never seen the truth even when it was standing right in front of him.

An example was the boy he claimed to love. The Hunter had seen Jared in the coffee shop earlier over on Washington. He was interesting that one was, interesting in a way no other person had been. Beautiful in an eclectic way, but then weren’t they all—the sodomites, whores, and sluts of the world. How else could they seduce the innocent ones and twist them into the selfsame things they were?

Turning from the window, he moved through the darkened house. There was nothing personable about the house. Walls bleach-white, furniture modern composed of metal and glass. There were no personal items, no flowers or photos, nothing to connect the owner to this place. The Hunter found white soothing, cleansing, and it allowed the thought process to move quickly without distraction.

Entering the bedroom, clothing stripped off and hidden away in metal trimmed white lidded laundry container just outside the bathroom door. One hand reached out to turn on the light causing spotless white tiles to flare with brightness. The shower door slid open and the water turned on, temperature scalding hot, and filled the room with clouds of opaque steam.

Mama and Daddy had always said cleanliness was next to godliness. Listening to them perhaps, things would have been different. Closed eyes, face tilted into the rush of hot water, the Hunter picked up a sponge and began to scrub away the filth.

Jensen was the dirtiest of them. He was the oldest and by default, he should know right from wrong, yet he’d never washed the blood from his hands. He only allowed it to dry and then he’d paint another layer on whether dirt or blood it mattered not. It was all filth.

They were all filth.

Scrubbing harder, breath racing, the Hunter scrubbed until the skin was raw and pink. It would never be enough. No amount of soap or hot water would clean away the veneer of rot and disease. It would never go away until the master of it was crushed to nothing more than bone and blood, skin stripped away to cleanse the filth from his soul.

Sliding down the shower wall the Hunter began to howl in agony, cries of a wounded animal on the verge of death. Yet death wouldn’t come…Not to the Hunter and not tonight.


	11. Chapter 11

During the drive back to the office, Jensen spoke not a single word. Misha was unsure whether that was a good or bad thing. All he did know was he wasn’t about to be the first one to break the silence. After working with Jensen, back in Los Angeles, he’d learned the man wasn’t weak by a long shot, but he was weak. God help him he was weaker than he’d ever admit aloud at the very least.

As the Impala pulled into the underground garage, he had the sudden feeling they were being watched and not for the obvious reasons. It was clear this murderous bastard had been watching Jensen for some time. Sam was right about one thing; this killer knew Jensen or believed he knew him. There was something personal going on and maybe Jensen couldn’t see it, but Misha could. 

Jensen pulled into his spot and killed the engine, the sudden silence drawing Misha from his thoughts. He glanced over at Jensen, worry creasing his brow when he saw the blank expression on his partner’s face. It was as his mom used to say the lights were on, but no one was home. His gut lurched, bile teasing the back of his throat and it brought tears to his eyes because he knew, God help him he knew, something had broken inside Jensen. Maybe it was the final crumbling remains of hope he’d been clinging to or it was the last thin line between right and wrong.

“She’s right you know.”

He jumped at the low timber of Jensen’s voice, quiet for so long. He blinked back the sting of unshed tears and cleared his throat. He couldn’t make the words form so he simply sat in silence waiting for Jensen to speak again. He didn’t have to wait long.

“This is personal. It has to be. Why else would this bastard go to such lengths to get me involved?”

Misha didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t sure there was anything he could say. Eyes drifting shut he saw the woman in the church again; her skinned, lifeless body displayed as if some macabre work of art. Perhaps, that was the entire point.

“No, she’s not right.”

Jensen turned, eyes focused on him with an intensity that would have lesser men’s skin crawling. “What the hell?”

Shaking his head, Misha leaned back in the seat, and rubbed his eyes as he tried to focus. “This isn’t exactly personal. I know this is going to sound weird, but I think this guy has fixated on you because you represent something to him.”

Snorting, Jensen rolled his eyes. “Not personal? He left a fresh fucking heart on my front porch! He killed that girl in the church and left another message for me—for me, Misha! How in the fuck is that not personal?”

He shifted in the seat so he was facing Jensen and exhaled. “You better than anyone should understand when it comes to psychosis there is no logic. You told me yourself that Cortese thought despite what he did to Jared he was going to simply walk away with no consequences.”

“Don’t you dare bring…”

“Damn it, Jensen!” he slammed his fist down on the dashboard. “Listen to me. It’s been two fucking years since we got here—two years. Yet, you’re still carrying around this shit with you. It’s eating you away from the inside out like a cancerous…”

Jensen threw his hands up in the air, “That’s just fucking sweet! Like you ever let go of what happened between Smith and you.”

Eyes flashing with anger, he clenched his fists. “That isn’t the same.” He hissed between clenched teeth. “You don’t have a fucking clue…”

“Then enlighten me, Misha!”

“I fucked her!” he screamed. “I was a married man with a child and I fucked her! Are you happy now?” tears welled in his eyes and trailed down his cheeks.

Jensen sat there silent and scared out of his wits. In the time he’d known Misha he’d seen him angry, frustrated, pissed off nine ways ‘til Sunday, but never had he seen tears—not once had he seen tears. Guilt rose in the pit of his stomach, crawling up his throat like some living thing to penetrate his skull.

“I’m…”

“Don’t say you’re fucking sorry, Jensen.” He shook his head. “I was the one who couldn’t keep my dick in my pants, who was so obsessed with the Sam I let some crazed bitch get to my family. It wasn’t Sam’s fault McNiven murdered my wife and son. It was mine. Don’t you get that?”

“It wasn’t your fault.” Jensen whispered. “It doesn’t matter what you did or didn’t do.”

Misha rolled his eyes, swiped his face, and exited the car without a word. It didn’t matter what Jensen thought or said it didn’t change what had happened. What he hadn’t said was the night his family had died he should have been at home. He’d promised Vicky he’d be home, but one thing led to another. Instead of going home, he’d ended up in Sam’s bed, their bodies together beneath tangled sheets. He’d still been there when the call had come in.

He recalled the moment he’d stepped into their house with a crystal clarity that had haunted him for seven years. The officers had tried to stop him. Sam had tried to stop him, but none of them could. His guilt fueled his rage.

“Misha!”

He looked up as Jensen jogged across the parking lot. He couldn’t recall closing the door or for that matter getting this far from the car.

“Damn it! Slow down!”

Holding up his hand, he waved off Jensen. “I’m fine. It’s just…” he lifted his gaze to focus on Jensen. “I’m worried you’ll make the same mistakes I’ve made.”

“Dude, come on. I’m gay you know that. I’d never consider sleeping with Sam.”

“Not Sam you idiot,” he chuckled although it was nothing close to amusement. “I’m talking about Jared. You have this wonderful man, creative, smart, and handsome.”

Jensen turned away from his penetrating gaze and began to pace the concrete floor, eyes focused anywhere but on Misha. “Look you’re not telling me anything I don’t know. I love Jared, I do, but there are things you couldn’t possibly understand.”

“The psychic link?” he raised one eyebrow in Jensen’s direction. “Did you think I wouldn’t figure it out? It wasn’t a one-time thing—was it?”

Stopping in mid-stride, Jensen turned on heel to face Misha. “How could you know that?”

Misha crossed the space separating them. “Jared was the catalyst the last time. You saw him when he was in the coma—a crisis apparition. I was there. I saw what it did to you. I also saw what Jared’s history did to you even before you knew he was alive. Maybe this lunatic was there in Los Angeles two years ago. Maybe he followed the fall out after you killed Robert Cortese.”

“So what are you saying?”

“I’m saying this killer could’ve latched onto you and Jared back then. You were both all over the newspapers and televised news. That was part of the reason you took Sandy up on her offer to help relocate the two of you to Boston.”

“Why me though?”

Shaking his head, Misha headed for the elevator. “I don’t think it’s just about you. I think this fucker could be obsessed with Jared as well.”

 

Standing in the center of the mess he’d created, Jared ran one hand through his hair, frustration etched in the lines around his eyes and mouth. He knew what he had to do, but it had been difficult enough telling Jensen about his gift and the horror of his childhood. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to face him with what he knew was obviously the truth about this killer.

Shuffling across the floor, he sat the easel back up, and then moved to where the broken canvas lay against the wall. He lifted the canvas and carried it to the bed where he sat it face up, breaking away the chunk of frame that had pierced its center. Sitting on the edge of the mattress, he dropped the wood to the floor and with a gentle touch smoothed down the torn canvas. He traced the now dry crimson paint, his mind wandering. Whatever curse he thought this was it was his burden to bear.

Hand sliding in his coat pocket, he pulled the cell out, and scrolled through the numbers. He wouldn’t make the same mistake he’d made with Devon. He should have never called her. Mike had been right about mixing business and pleasure. Agent Smith though was a different story. Jensen had made it clear, as had she, that she’d wanted to speak to him. Jensen hadn’t wanted him to get involved and he’d understood. All Jensen ever wanted was to protect him. From the moment he’d woke in Sand City he’d done exactly that perhaps to the detriment of them both.

He hit call at last and waited. Seconds later a familiar female voice came across the line.

“Agent Smith, talk to me.”

“Agent Smith, its Jared Padalecki. I’d like to speak with you.”

“You’ve got me, Mr. Padalecki.”

“No not over the phone in person. There’s something I need to show you, can you come to the house?”

There was a moment of silence and then Sam cleared her throat. “Do you think that’s a good idea? The last time I saw Jensen he didn’t seem too happy with me not that I blame him.”

“Jensen’s not here and even if he were I’m making this decision. Are we clear, Agent Smith?”

“Clear as crystal, sir.”

 

Ty was cleaning up, working the late shift tonight. He yawned, glanced at the wall clock with relief. It was coming up on ten, the end of his shift. All he wanted was to head home, order a pizza, have a few beers, and enjoy sleeping in for the first time in two fucking weeks.

Heading down the hall, switching off lights as he went, he headed for the locker room with a whistle on his lips. The cleaning crew would be arriving in a few minutes and he’d like to be walking to his car by then. Pushing open the locker room door, he reached for the light switch. As his fingers touched the switch, he heard what sounded like crying. The sound was faint, not coming from the locker room, but rather from the end of the hall where the staff lounge was. A frown creased his brow as he stepped back into the darkened corridor.

He glanced down toward where the lounge door was holding his breath. There it was he thought. It was definitely someone crying, but there wasn’t anyone here in the clinic other than himself and the nightshift guard at the front desk. Careful not to slam the door he shut it and crept down the hall toward the door. Once he was outside the door he glanced down, but there was no light beneath it.

Lifting one hand, trembling fingers threaded through his hair. If he were smart, he’d call the security desk. The question was should he bother Aaron or should he just pop in. After all, maybe one of the nurses hadn’t left yet. He’d feel stupid if he called security on one of his own co-workers. He reached out palm pressed against the door and pushed it open a couple of inches.

“Hello? Who’s in here?” When no answer was forthcoming, he stepped away. He was being an idiot, he thought. He needed to call security.

Ty had moved a mere six feet away when the door clicked shut, seconds later it blew outward in a ball of flame. Concussive blast echoing through the hall, he lifted off his feet and flew forward a good ten feet; blood filling his mouth as he hit the floor. The shrill screams of the smoke detectors deafened him followed by a flood of icy water as the sprinklers activated. Struggling to his feet, he began stumbling toward the front of the building clutching his left arm close to his chest and spit blood.  
Reaching the corner, he ran straight into Aaron Ashmore, the security guard on duty at the desk. The younger man skidded along the wet tile, screaming over the alarms. “What the fuck, Ty?”

“We need to get the hell out of here.”

Arm wrapped around Ty’s shoulders, Aaron headed through the thick acrid smoke to the nearest exit. Ty wasn’t sure what had just happened, but then again he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. Clenching his teeth against the pain of his dislocated shoulder, he leaned his weight into Aaron the sound of the crying he’d heard forgotten in a haze of pain and smoke.

 

Light rain, more a mist, fell around Sam as she exited the cab and paid the cabbie with a crisp twenty from her wallet. She took two steps forward, tugging her coat closer around her body as the cab pulled from the curb. It had done nothing, but rain in Boston since she arrived, she thought recalling the words of the young woman who’d discovered the last body. Something about snowflakes being the frozen tears of angels. It seemed appropriate considering how she’d started to feel especially after Molly Quinn’s heart mysteriously appeared on Jensen’s doorstep.

She glanced up at the narrow brownstone, four stories, and postage stamp size yard surrounded by a low cast iron fence. The entire thing was lit up like a Christmas tree, windows filled with a warm buttery glow. It had looked the same the night before, but now the neighborhood was quiet, the occasional car cutting the silence with the purr of well-oiled engine and water splashing against smooth blacktop.

Reaching out with one gloved hand, she pushed open the gate leading to the front yard, squeak of hinges causing her to start with surprise. She swallowed back a nervous laugh and wondered what Jared had to say to her. This was her chance to get him alone, pick his brain, but she had to proceed with caution. After what had happened in Los Angeles, she hadn’t been sure how stable he was and compound that with the incident last night here in the one place he should feel safe…well who knew what psychological damage he’d suffered.

As she headed up the brick path to the porch, her eyes darted from side to side. She still stuck by her opinion the Hunter knew Jensen, perhaps even Jared. The way things had ended at the church worried her. Jensen himself had suffered a trauma when he’d opened that bloody box last night even if he didn’t want to admit it. The appearance of the box had forced him to get involved despite his desire to look the other way. The Hunter had plans for Jensen and never for a moment had she doubted it. What bothered her more were the messages. They made no sense to her or Fuller and even Jensen claimed he had no idea what they meant although both were for him.

As she mounted the stairs, the front door opened wide swath of light illuminating Jared from behind and spilling out on the porch. Looking up she sucked in air. She’d known Jared was a big man, but until right then she hadn’t realized just how imposing he could be. Even leaning on a cane, she was certain he had no need of, didn’t take away from his massive height.

“Agent Smith, I have to say at least you’re punctual.”

He stepped back from the door and waved her into the hall with his free hand. With a final glance back over her shoulder, Sam shuddered. Something deep inside told her they were being watched. She knew with every primeval instinct that somewhere outside in the shadows the Hunter watched and waited. For what she wasn’t sure, but she knew he was there.

Then Jared closed the door and shut out the night.

 

Devon felt foolish for leaving the coffee shop as she had. What must Jared think of her panicked exit? Running away as if she were a small child frightened of the monster beneath the bed. There was no loving parent or warm bed waiting to comfort her. She’d had to leave though; she’d had no other option. There were things she shared with no one not even Jared although she was certain he’d understand. She’d been certain of that since the first time she’d laid eyes on him.

Scuttling down the street like a terrified bug awaiting a giant foot to descend and squash them, she turned the corner and darted past the windows of the Chinese restaurant she lived over to the side door. It wasn’t the best apartment, but it was affordable on her salary and well hidden from prying eyes. Fumbling with her keys, she unlocked the heavy wooden door and darted into the dim-lit stairwell, closing and locking it behind her. She made sure the other six locks were in place before she bent down to retrieve the mail scattered across the chipped tile floor and then headed up the narrow steep staircase to the second floor.

She’d been in Boston for two years and just as she’d started to feel safe, the killings had begun. She tried to ignore them, but she knew who it was in her gut. Yes, the cops back home had claimed he was dead, killed in an auto accident, they’d even buried a body, yet she knew better. They’d claimed he was dead ten years ago and for ten years she’d been running from a so-called dead man. She'd moved from one town to another for ten long excruciating years a different name in each town with a different look. He always managed to find her somehow though. Her mother was all the family she had, but the bitch could die as far as Devon cared. Her mother had brought him into their lives and she’d stood by and watched without doing a damn thing.

At the top of the stairs, she unlocked the second door and pushed it open darting inside to flip on the overhead light. Again as downstairs, she shut and locked the door, six more locks, but no number of locks ever gave her a moment of peace. She’d tried to tell them back home he wasn’t dead, but they hadn’t listened. Dental records matched because that was all they’d had to work with after the car had burned out. There were ways to fake a person’s death.

Walking through the apartment, she left a trail of lights following her as she flipped through the mail. Bills and junk mail thank God, she thought. Maybe she’d been wrong, maybe he hadn’t been there somewhere watching as she’d thought. The last thing she wanted was for him to see Jared and get the wrong idea. Jared was kind and sweet, a man anyone would be proud to be with, but he didn’t know the truth. He could never find out the truth either.

The sudden ring of the landline she insisted on shattered the silence causing her to jump, the mail falling to the floor in a wild scatter of color. Closing her eyes, she breathed trying to calm her racing heart. It was probably Ty calling to let her know some last minute schedule change at the clinic. He always did when he had the next day off. Mail forgotten she crossed the living room to answer the phone and answered on the third ring.

“Hello.”

There was nothing on the end and the fine hairs at the base of her skull prickled up, wave of cold sweeping through her body.

“Hello?”

“My apologies ma’am for calling so late, this is Officer Hodge with the Boston PD. May I ask if this is Devon Hargrove.”

Her palms were sweating so bad she could barely hold onto the receiver. “Yes, it is.”

“I’m calling on behalf of Ty Olsson, a co-worker of yours.”

“Excuse me? I’m sorry officer, but I’m confused. Why are you calling for Ty?”

There was a drawn out pause and the officer on the other end of the line cleared his throat. “My apologies I was on the understanding an officer had already been dispatched to your place of residence.”

Heart clenching in her chest, she swallowed back the bitter taste of bile. “Why would an officer…what’s happened?” she stuttered out.

Before he could reply, amber and blue lights flashed through the windows from outside on the street, colors flowing over the yellowed plaster of the ceiling. Devon dropped to her knees, the phone slipping from her sweat-slicked fingers and to the floor with a clatter. Somewhere in the distance, she could hear Officer Hodge’s voice calling her name followed by the sound of her doorbell ringing.

She’d been right.

He was here.

He had tracked her to Boston.

 

Standing outside the studio door, Sam took a calming breath, her eyes meeting Jared’s as she contemplated what awaited her on the other side. He’d barely spoken a word since inviting her into the house. She distracted herself by taking in every detail of the rooms as he led her through the house to the back staircase and up to the third floor. Now here they were and what awaited her had every hair on her body standing on end.

She stepped through into the brightly lit studio. Unlike the rest of the house, she noted there was nothing of Jensen’s presence here as she imagined it should be. But then there was very little of Jared either outside of the art supplies and the easel centered beneath the skylight dappled with rain. Across the room was a King sized platform bed with wrinkled sheets, a comforter pulled back to the foot of the bed. The sight of the bed made her heart ache. It seemed there was far more holding Jensen and Jared apart than she’d originally believed.

“Why did you call me, Jared?”

He glanced up from where he was opening the closet door. “I told you I had something to show you.”

From inside the closet he pulled a canvas free, one that it was obvious had taken the brunt of someone’s anger at some point. At the center, flaps of torn material had been scotch-taped and part of the wooden frame was shattered, but appeared glued together as well.

Sam raised one eyebrow and cleared her throat. “Did you…?”

“Yes.” Jared replied.

He crossed the room and held out the canvas with one hand. Hesitant she reached out and accepted it with gloved hands, flipping it around and her breathe caught in her throat. Some might not understand what they were seeing, but she did.

“The Hunter.” she whispered.

Jared dropped to the bed, cane clattering against the floor, and cradled his face in his palms. His shoulders began to shake. Sam was unsurprised by the open emotion after all Jared had something he needed to share and it was far more important than even she had imagined. As her gaze travelled over the destroyed painting, her heart began to race.

A figure in a dark hoodie stood above what appeared to be an altar, a nude woman lay sprawled across the surface in a familiar pose, eyes wide and lifeless staring up at the hooded figure. She would bet her life the woman was Amanda Righetti the latest victim of the killer except this image was before her skin was removed, long red hair spread out beneath her head against the pale altar, strands spinning out to fade away into the blackness surrounding her. Over the image of the woman, a sloppy heart of crimson stood out in broad strokes, nothing like the flawless detail in the rest of the painting. It was as if a different person had painted the heart, hands shaking with some emotion trapped between fury and grief.

“How did you know?” she whispered.

Jared lifted his head, tears on pale cheeks. “The same way I knew the heart belonged to Molly Quinn. The same way I reached out to Jensen when I was as good as dead back in Los Angeles.”

Her heart ached at the sound of raw grief in Jared’s voice. She should be happy, but all she wanted was to cleanse the pain from his wide, wet hazel eyes. “You’re gifted…like me.” Those were the only words she had to offer him.

“Like you?” he parroted back at her shock blanching the color even further from his already pale visage.

Letting the canvas slip to the floor, Sam closed the distance between them and lowered her body to sit beside him. “Yes, like me.” She choked on the words. She’d never told anyone the truth, not since she’d tried to explain how she’d ended up in a motel, dead father next to her and bloody knife in her hands. She’d been searching for so long she’d almost forgotten how it had all started.

“I don’t understand.” Jared sobbed. “You’re like…”

Sam smiled, a weak excuse for a smile, “You. I’ve been searching my entire life for someone else like me and now…” her words trailed off as she discovered her arms full of a devastated young man, his face burrowed in her chest.

Resting her chin against the top of his lowered head, she let him weep, unsure if the tears he shed were grief, happiness, or relief at their discovery. After a few minutes, she lifted one hand and began stroking her fingers through the thick, tangled silk of his chestnut colored hair.

“It’s okay,” she whispered. “You’re not alone anymore.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gods! It's been over a month since I've posted a chapter here and my deepest apologies for those of you who have been ever so patient in your waiting. The past month has been a crazy RL month. Damn RL always getting in the way of my writing! *stomps foot*
> 
> Hope I don't disappoint with this chapter. Enjoy and I swear even if it kills me there will not be another wait this long. *hugs & J2 shaped chocolates*

Misha stared down at the copy of the police report Fuller’s team delivered, eyes red-rimmed and blurred with exhaustion. It was close to three in the morning and he was running on black coffee and very little else if he were honest. He’d read over the details of the latest victim and the crime scene including the message left at the scene in blood for who they’d assumed was Jensen. It was only a matter of time before the press got wind of the personalization of the crimes.

Under duress, Jensen headed home around twenty minutes ago. It was ridiculous for him to stay when he had someone to go home to, someone who might be in danger from the same man who’d been killing these young women. Leaning back in his chair, he scrubbed at his eyes. He should have took his own advice, went home, but he felt as if he needed to work on these messages. There had to be something about them related to Jensen or perhaps a case he’d worked.

He retrieved a legal pad and pen from his desk drawer and then the file on the incident at Jensen’s house. There were photos of the plain white card. Staring at the precise print, he pressed the pen to paper and copied the message word for word.

 

Can you hear the poison rain?

 

It was clearly a question aimed at his partner. Poison rain, he wondered. Was the killer referring to himself or his message? He wanted Jensen to understand what he was doing and why, that was obvious, but why Jensen?

He read the words repeatedly until he was ready to beat his skull against the wall. It made no sense. He’d gone over the list of cases his partner had dealt with during his years in Los Angeles and none of them mentioned poison, poisoning, or rain. Most were dry runs on divorces, cheating spouses, or thieves.

The only two involving a death were the first and last; searching for the man who’d killed Jim’s daughter and the Cortese fiasco. In both cases Jensen had killed the person he was pursuing, one in self-defense and the other when he’d held a gun to Sandy’s head. There was a room full of witnesses to the last one. And the LAPD forensics team had backed up Jensen's story to first responders when he’d called 911 seconds after killing the bastard who’d murdered Jim’s daughter.

He tipped back the chair, eyes drifting shut as he mumbled to himself. “What the hell are you trying to tell him?”

Once upon a time, he’d been the golden boy of the BSU, genius when it came to getting in the heads of the killers they pursued. He could figure this out damn it. It was a case of Occam’s razor; he was over thinking this thing. They were both over thinking it. It was obvious the Hunter believed Jensen would understand even if no one else would. It had to be something he would have understood at some point in his…

Suddenly, he sat up chair coming close to tipping over. Simple, obvious, those were the points. Can you hear the poison rain? What was something everyone could relate to on some level?

“Music…shit it can’t be that easy.”

Opening his laptop, he pulled up Google and typed in the words lyrics poison rain. The second entry that came up was a song by the band 30 Seconds to Mars. He clicked on the site and skimmed some comments. Frown creasing his brow he opened another tab and typed in the link to You Tube. Once it came up, he typed in 30 Seconds to Mars Hurricane. Skimming the links, he clicked on one and hit play, music blaring out of the laptop’s speakers. Across the screen the lyrics to the song appeared as the lead singer began singing.

Fifty-four seconds into the video the answer appeared on the screen.

 

No matter how many nights

that you’d lie wide-awake

to the sound of the poison rain—

 

He swallowed back bile. A song, it was a reference to a fucking song. He scrolled back the video and hit play again, hands shaking as he scribbled down the lyrics to the song. A part of him insisted poison rain could mean anything or nothing, but the part he’d pushed down for seven years, the part he’d once relied on to guide him with the BSU knew better. This song was the lead they’d been looking for to begin unraveling the messages the Hunter had left for Jensen. For the first time since his family’s death, he was certain of more than his own guilt.

 

Cursing beneath his breath, the Hunter hidden in shadow watched as arcs of water pierced the smoke and flames engulfing the rehabilitation center. It was supposed to be her. She was the one who should have opened the door, but instead she had switched shifts with that annoying co-worker Ty. Of course, he hadn’t had time to remove the device and now she would be positive he was here although he suspected she’d already known.

Devon was a thorn in his side she always had been. She’d believed she had the right to kill him, but she’d failed to do so even at her most desperate. They’d been chasing one another for more years than he cared to admit and now—well he was exhausted, bored of the chase. The murders were a signed love letter for her in the beginning. Each more elaborate than the next. She knew, but they were never close enough for the idiot police to connect. Then Jensen had appeared and everything changed.

Dropping the cigarette he’d been smoking to the pavement, he ground it out beneath the thick heel of his boot. Jensen was far more fascinating than Devon and that whore friend of hers he’d ended. Jensen’s partner though was even more interesting with his power and self-flagellation. Power was something he’d always craved in a way that slut Smith would equate to sexual release. It really wasn’t about sex in the least. It was about control and it always had been—hadn’t it?

He turned and walked into the night, gloved hands clenched at his side. To hell with Devon and her attempts to stop him ten years of failure should be enough to sustain her appetite for revenge. Her and her perversions had only been the testing ground for what he was capable of and with each body added to the count, it became clear nothing could stop him.

Not even Jensen Ackles could stop destiny.

 

Arriving at home, Jensen yawned and rubbed his eyes before cutting the engine. He stared out through the rain-dappled windshield not seeing what lay beyond it, but rather seeing the expression in Misha’s eyes when he’d demanded he go get some rest. Misha was right. He was allowing this entire cluster fuck to take over his life. He’d barely seen much less spoken to Jared in the past couple of days. That wasn’t right. He loved Jared and he knew Jared was as scared as he was about what had happened.

Exiting the car, he activated the alarm and turned to walk up the street to his front gate. Hands stuffed in his jean pockets and eyes focused on the sidewalk he didn’t notice the figure sitting on the porch stairs until he reached out to push open the gate. His hand automatically pulled back and reached for the gun concealed beneath his jacket until he realized it was Sam sitting there, gleam of the porch light creating a golden halo around her head.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he snarled.

She lifted her bowed head and exhaled a cloud of gray smoke, eyes hidden behind her bangs. “He called me.” She lifted one hand and took another drag from the cigarette dangling from between long fingers.

“Jared?” he snorted. “Why would he call you?”

Rather than answer the question she stared down at the glowing tip of the cigarette she held. “You ever think we don’t have a choice?”

He was not in the mood for a philosophical discussion, least of all with her. Yes, he’d agreed to help, but he was pissed she hadn’t warned him about the message left with this latest body or the fact the Hunter had returned to his original MO. The image of that poor girl’s body stripped of skin and revealing bloody tissue laid out against the pristine church altar would haunt him for the rest of his life. It was the goriest thing he’d ever seen in his life and standing there at the base of the stairs, eyes locked on Sam’s exhausted face, he wondered how in the fuck she remained sane.

“Why did Jared call you?” he finally questioned joining her on the steps to light a cigarette of his own. “Did something happen?”

“You do know he’s gifted—right?—even if you don’t want to admit it.”

Jensen shook his head, taking a drag and let the burn of tobacco eliminate the fear in his mind. “Not an idiot, Sam, never have been.”

She turned to face him, darkness obliterating her features in a smear of gray. He wasn’t sure what to expect. What did come out though was far more revealing than he expected.

“I suppose Misha told you why he hates me so damn much.”

Her gaze shifted to the butt of the cigarette pinched between thumb and finger before taking a final drag and flicking it into the darkness at the end of the sidewalk. The cherry glowed for a few seconds before vanishing in the rain with a sizzle. Jensen considered what to say and then cleared his throat.

“It doesn’t matter one damn red cent to me what happened between you two. The only thing that does matter is that you two can work together now.” He paused and took a drag of the cigarette he’d forgotten he was holding. “And by the way he doesn’t hate you. He hates himself more than he could ever hate you.”

“Being a mystery to someone like him can be fatal, Jensen.” She whispered.

Jensen let out a rough laugh. “You’re not as big a mystery as you seem to believe, not to me at least. We have far more in common than you might think.”

Silence descended around them as the rain began to fall harder. They sat there side by side lost in their thoughts. If given half a chance, Jensen figured Sam wasn’t such a bad person. Yeah, she’d broken the first rule among law enforcement. Sleeping with co-workers especially partners was a huge fucking no-no, but she was only human.

“You never answered my question.”

She glanced up at the stormy sky, distant lights of downtown flickering between the sheets of rain. Pushing off the steps, she turned and headed for the front door and paused with her hand on knob.

“I think you need to see something first.”

 

Ty was pissed. It was that simple although perhaps he should be counting his blessings since he and Aaron had walked out of the clinic in one piece. He was exhausted, doped up on pain meds and all he could smell was the lingering odor of stale smoke from his singed hair. He should be home, fresh from the shower, and enjoying pizza and a beer a quiet evening, nothing this fucking dramatic.

Glancing at the white curtain surrounding his bed, he groaned frustrated by the whole damn thing. His eyes drifted shut for a second as he tried to push down the pain in his now relocated shoulder. The faint hiss of metal on metal reached his ears through the throb of his own heartbeat as the curtain pulled back.

“Jesus, haven’t you fucking cops ask enough questions?”

When there was no immediate answer, he frowned, opening one eye to see Devon standing between the long folds of the curtains. Her eyes were red-rimmed and the light glinted off the residue of tears not quite dry on her cheeks. Her dark hair was a tangled rat’s nest instead of the normal tight neat ponytail he was so used to seeing. The sight of her caused his throat to close as if some chunk of matter had lodged there.

“Hey, there.” he managed.

Without a word, she crossed the short distance between them and threw herself into his arms with a strangled sob. Ty considered her a friend, always had, since the moment she’d started work at the clinic even though they knew little about one another, but the grief she offered was far too intense simply for a friend. In the back of his head, the idea she was blaming herself for this entire cluster fuck rose to the surface. He lifted his good hand, trying to ignore the intense pain in his shoulder, and began to stroke his fingers through the tangled strands of her hair. He mumbled calming sounds as the sobs vibrating through her body began to ease.

Waiting he listened to her breathing even out and wondered where this intense display of emotion originated from. There were few people he would have expected this reaction from even considering the situation. This level of concern he expected from a wife or a girlfriend, if he happened to have one, or even his mother, but never a co-worker. It seemed impossible Devon could have this much concern for him.

She pulled away, her eyes hidden behind the twisted mass of her hair, and cleared her throat, cheeks aflame from what Ty imagined was embarrassment. Swiping at her face with shaking hands she offered him a watery smile. “I’m so sorry.”

“For what?” he chuckled.

She waved her hands in an attempt to encompass the bleak, sanitary space. “This.”

“Damn, Dev, it’s not like you tried to blow me up.”

Every bit of the previous color drained from her face and Ty realized there was more to the story. She stumbled backward, tripping over her own feet, and grabbed the edge of the curtain, hooks popping off in a shower of metal. He sat up too quick, reaching out to her, and the room did its best impersonation of a Tilt-a-Whirl on speed. Instead, of continuing her headlong flight she stopped dead in her tracks, eyes going wider than it seemed possible.

“But it is my fault.”

Ty frowned as the room began to settle. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

She shook her head. “You’re wrong, Ty. Haven’t you ever wondered why I never talk about my family?”

He snorted. “Hell, I don’t talk about mine. Most of them are assholes. That doesn’t mean anything.”

Looking up from the floor eyes huge and dark, Devon sucked in a terrified breath. “It was meant for me.”

Ty swung his legs over the edge of the mattress and stood on unsteady legs, silent curse on his lips. “What was meant for you?”

“The bomb at the clinic.” she whispered.

“That’s crazy, Devon. It was some random nut job.”

“It was him.”

Wrapping an arm around Devon, he pulled her closer, “Who?”

“Christopher Heyerdahl, my stepfather.”

 

Sam insisted on not disturbing Jared considering the emotional wreck he’d been after their conversation, albeit a short one. Jensen on the other hand was adamant he check in on his partner and who was Sam to stand in the way.

She stood at the top of the stairs, back to the wall, and watched, from the corner of her eye, as Jensen stood silent in the doorway of the master bedroom. She’d always trusted her gut and what it told her now would have been clear to a blind man. Jensen loved Jared in a way few people loved another human being. Etched in every line of his face and body, it shone in his eyes, and Sam wondered if she would ever find someone who looked at her that way. It didn’t seem to matter Jared was different.

Jensen closed the door as quiet as possible and then turned to face her. Even in the semi-darkness of the hall, she could make out the shine in his eyes.

“How is he doing?”

Hands thrust in his pockets he averted his eyes to the floor, “Sleeping like a baby. First time I’ve seen that in a long damn time.”

She kicked off the wall and headed down the hall toward him. “Good, the kid needed it. Come upstairs I have something Jared should have shone you a long time ago.”

She swept past him to the stairs leading to Jared’s studio. He spared a glance at the bedroom door before turning and following her. Worried sick about what she was about to show him was the understatement of the year. He’d promised Misha he would go home and get some rest, maybe a bite to eat, but that was before he discovered Smith waiting on his porch.

Following her up those stairs was the most difficult thing he’d ever done. When they’d arrived in Boston Jensen had insisted Jared not give up his art, part of him feeling it would help Jared work through what he’d suffered in LA. Jared hadn’t argued and Sandy bless her heart had agreed. She’d gone out of her way to find a home for them where Jared could create his own space outside of the space Jensen and he shared. In the beginning, he’d refused to have anything to do with the studio. Then one morning he’d glanced at Jensen across the table and said he was ready.

Jensen had never crossed the threshold of the room after the morning. As weeks turned to months, he saw Jared less and less in what he’d hoped would be their shared room. He hadn’t even argued when Jared insisted on having a bed put there. Jared needed what he needed and who was Jensen to deny him his space. Eventually, he understood he’d allowed the only thing in his life to slip through his fingers like sand through an hourglass. Instead of fighting for what they’d had, he’d thrown himself into work and the wall separating them grew thicker and taller.

With each step up the stairs, his chest grew tight, and a weight descended on his shoulders. He’d known something was wrong, but he’d convinced himself Jared needed time. It never crossed his mind how bad it might be. Denial had been the easier path.

At the top of the stairs, Sam waited next to the open studio door—waited to show him something he had no desire to see. Jensen tried to prepare for the worst. There was nothing—he thought later—that could have prepared him for what waited on the other side of the door. Not a fresh human heart on his front porch or the skinless body of some innocent girl posed on an altar. The air rushed from his lungs in a sound trapped between a scream and a sob as he stepped into the room.

Every available surface covered in sketches and painted canvases depicting images so dark as to have sprung from the mind of Lucifer himself. There were girls, hundreds of girls, staring out at him with lifeless eyes, bodies bloodless and naked. Their faces trapped in the forced ecstasy of their last moments on earth.

He stumbled forward, surge of fury sour in the back of his throat. Most of the faces were strangers, but among them were the victims of Boston, the Hunter’s victims. Some were half-skinned and others skinless, their bodies bound and twisted to allow easy access to their most intimate areas. Acid burned his tongue as he fought the urge to vomit. The nightmares Jared had suffered given shape in vivid shades of crimson on a backdrop of darkness. And always there, hidden in the shadows, the hooded figure of who could only be the Hunter himself.

Jensen spun to face Sam as she followed him into the room. “What is…Jesus what is this?”

“A catalogue.” she replied.

“A catalogue of what exactly?”

Sam ran one hand through her tousled hair, eyes filled with exhaustion and horror. It seemed forever before she answered with a single word, “Victims.”

The room began to tilt as Jensen leaned against the wall, legs folding beneath him and dropped to the floor. He’d tried so damn hard to forget what had happened in LA, tried to explain it away, but there was no explaining away this. His head came to rest on his drawn up knees and even with his eyes closed against the horror laid out before him, he could feel their eyes on him.

Jared had connected on some level with this monster. Never seeing the bastard’s face, but witnessing the bloody path of destruction, he left behind him. Jensen lifted his head to see Sam squatted down in front of him.

“How?” he choked out.

She reached out, slender fingers gripping his knee. “You know how, Jensen. You’ve known since the day Genevieve Cortese walked into your office in LA two years ago. Jared is gifted, a man who can see the darkness even in the brightest sunlight. The two of you were meant to be together.”

“I can’t.” he pulled away from her, stumbling to his feet.

“You don’t have a choice.”

Heading for the door Jensen called over his shoulder. “Let yourself out.” Then he vanished out the door.

Sam stood there for a moment, gut knotted. She hated doing this to him, to both of them, but there was no stopping this sick fucker without their help. There was something different about this one—something wrong. A part of her had known from the moment she’d arrived in Boston this wasn’t the first time the Hunter had killed and if they didn’t stop him here…

The thought of what would happen was unacceptable.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Massive apologies for the delay in posting this chapter. RL has been a nightmare and unfortunately work comes before play. Hope you enjoy. : )

Morning dawned on Boston as it had for more weeks than most of its citizens cared to admit; overcast, cold, and drizzling something between rain and sleet. The streets shimmered with half-frozen slush endangering the irritated commuters as they struggled to arrive at work on time. An edge of pink separated sky and ocean in their tumultuous grayness as some twisted reassurance the sun had risen even if she shied from their eyes behind billowing storm clouds.

Jensen woke to the patter of rain and sleet against the bedrooms’ bay window facing the street. He lay listening to the odd almost rhythmic music of Mother Nature eyes closed, and wished the peace he felt at this moment would last forever. It couldn’t, although, he understood it wasn’t the fault of the man lying in his arms but rather the evil thing pursuing them both. His eyes drifted open and lowered to where Jared’s head rested against his chest, hair a tangled mass of darkness spread across his tee shirt like roots in an overgrown garden. He lifted one hand settling it against the curve of the other man’s head, hair lambs’ wool soft against Jensen’s calloused palm.

He was ashamed of his reaction last night, how he’d dismissed Smith, and ran for the only place he deemed safe even though he wasn’t sure anymore that it was. He wanted to believe everything would be fine, but…

Unshed tears blurred his vision as he stroked Jared’s hair, the images of the previous night haunting the dark reaches of his mind. Beneath his hand, Jared’s head shifted, gentle breath of warm air dampening his shirt. He swallowed back the thickness rising in his throat and blinked back the tears. When the weight on his chest lifted, he glanced down to see Jared’s eyes focused on him and it was the final straw, tears falling despite his best efforts.

“I’m sorry.” The words were a whisper.

“Sorry for what?”

Jared pushed up, body shifting beneath the thick duvet, “For not telling you. I should have told you the moment the dreams started, but I didn’t…”

“…Think I’d understand.” He finished Jared’s thought, voice cracking under the weight of his own guilt. “You were right. I wouldn’t have because I didn’t want to understand. I wanted to forget everything in LA. I wanted to pretend it was a fluke, but it wasn’t.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

They lay there in the silence, curled into one another’s bodies, and took simple comfort where they could find it. It had been months since they’d shared a bed and having Jared next to him again was a revelation to Jensen. He hadn’t noticed how much he’d missed his partner and friend. Despite everything—including the lack of intimacy—he couldn’t imagine his life without Jared.

“I should have listened.” He sighed.

Jared lifted his head again, eyes shadowed by overgrown hair. “I wasn’t talking.”

He offered Jared a watery smile. “Yeah, you were. Maybe not with words, but you were talking—always talking.” He swallowed his grief close to choking on it. If he’d only listened, maybe none of this would have happened. “You do know I love you, right?”

“Always did.” Jared mumbled.

“Then why did…” he shook his head.

“What?”

Sitting up against the headboard, Jensen ran his hands over his face. “Why didn’t you force me to see the truth?”

Jared shifted, tossing back the duvet, and sat up long legs folded beneath him. He tried to smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It would have been like the blind leading the blind, Jensen. Hell, I wasn’t even sure what was happening. That first morning all I knew was the dream wasn’t a dream. I had no idea I was seeing through a murders’ eyes. The images weren’t clear at first…random faces and darkness. Then they started to sharpen and become more…”

“Horrifying?” Jensen offered.

Nodding, he continued. “I wanted to believe they were simple dreams, I did, but it’s not like I could be that fucking lucky.”

For the first time, Jensen heard anger in Jared’s words. It wasn’t just anger though there were so many other emotions entangled in his words. There was fear, grief, and sadness. Jensen knew how he felt.

“He wants something from me.”

“No.” Jared replied, fingers gripping Jensen’s hand. “He wants something from us.”

 

Detective Fuller sat staring at the murder board, photos of the young women as they were pinned next to what they’d become in death. It was more than any human should have to witness, but they weren’t the first and they wouldn’t be the last he saw.

“Kurt.”

He tore his gaze from the board to see his partner, James, standing in the doorway not looking much better than he did. James was a good cop, but Fuller was beginning to regret getting him involved in police work. He had a great life one that most people would kill for, gorgeous wife, beautiful home, and two fantastic kids. If anything were to happen to him, if he were to die, he’d never forgive himself.

“Yeah, James, what is it?”

“There’s a guy here, claims he knows who the Hunter is.”

It took a second for the words to sink in. He sat silent for a moment and then shook his head. “What?”

“He just walked into the station and told the desk sergeant he needed to talk to the lead detective on the Night Hunter case; said he knew who the fucker was.”

Fuller came damn close to flipping his chair over when he stood. “You’re fucking shitting me!”

Shaking his head, James snorted. “I hope to hell he isn’t kidding because if he his I’ll lock his ass up myself. Now let’s go find out if we have a fruitcake or a solid lead.”

Palms slick with sweat, Fuller grabbed his jacket and headed out the door, partner by his side. James wouldn’t have a chance to lock the little fucker up if this was a joke, but he might have to pull Kurt off him before he beat him to death. He didn’t have the patience for any more idiots—not now, not ever.

 

Ty sat in the interrogation room fingers drumming against the hard surface of the table wishing he had a fucking joint. It didn’t matter he was in the center of a police station because at this point he was willing to risk it. He was only here because of Devon and her bizarre confession last night. Part of his brain told him he should have never come here, but the other part told him if he didn’t he would never forgive himself if another woman died.

He glanced up at the huge mirror directly across from him and he wondered why the cops even bothered with the entire thing. There was no doubt in his mind that the detective he’d come to see was studying him on the other side of the glass as if he were a bug beneath a microscope. That’s what cops did—they made you sweat it. Especially, if you were idiotic enough to walk into their precinct and announce you knew the identity of the serial killer they’d been hunting for weeks.

The bite in the ass was he didn’t know the man Devon claimed was the killer. The bigger bite in the ass was she’d fled the hospital after she claimed her stepfather (aka the Hunter) had been stalking her and begged Ty not to tell anyone. Devon had been acting as if she were the biggest mental case in the universe. Maybe she was nuts, fuck he didn’t know, but he wasn’t willing to take the chance.

He jerked from his troubled thoughts when the door to the interrogation room swung open. Looking up he met the dark eyes of a tall slim man dressed to the nines. Clipped at his waist a detective’s badge, overhead light causing the polished surface to stand out against his dark slacks.

“Mr. Olsson, I’m Detective Stuart with Boston Homicide.” He crossed the room and took the seat across the table, back to the mirror.

“Ty.”

“What was that?”

He cleared his throat running his hand through his hair, nervous and agitated. “My friends call me Ty.”

Detective Stuart offered him what might pass for a smile and then lowered his eyes to the file he’d carried in. “Then Ty it is. So, the desk sergeant explained to me that you might have some idea who we’re looking.”

Licking his lips, nerves on edge, Ty shifted in the hard wooden chair trying to find some way to relax. He’d never been in a situation like this. As a teenager, he’d been a bit of a troublemaker, but the trouble had never been anything this bad. How do I even begin? He wondered.

“Ty?”

He glanced up at Detective Stuart feeling much like a deer caught in the headlights of a speeding truck. “Yes?”

Stuart frowned, eyebrows drawn together. “You stated to Sergeant Pellegrino that you needed to talk to the head detective in the Hunter case because you knew who the bastard was—did you not?”

Ty swallowed hard. “It’s kind of complicated.”

Leaning across the table, Stuart fisted the collar of Ty’s shirt, eyes burning with sheer rage, “Then uncomplicate it!”

 

The scent of fresh brewed coffee eventually drew Jared and Jensen down the stairs considering neither had brewed it. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Jensen with gun in hand, they were both surprised to not only see Sam, but Misha as well at the kitchen table talking in low voices.

“Put the damn gun away, Jensen.” Misha lifted his mug, never once turning around. “No need for it at the moment.”

Jensen snorted and tucked his weapon in the waistband of his jeans. “What the hell are you doing here, again?” he snapped at Sam.

She glanced up from the papers she was skimming, “Never left.”

“You never left? I thought I made it clear…”

Before he could finish, Misha cleared his throat, “Sam was cataloguing Jared’s work upstairs all night. When I showed up this morning, she answered the door. I’m guessing you two didn’t hear the doorbell.” He glanced up from beneath his lashes, corner of his mouth upturned in a half-smile when Jared’s cheeks flushed pink.

Jensen made a beeline for the coffee pot with a snort. “It’s not what you think. We were both exhausted, needed some uninterrupted sleep.”

“I wasn’t thinking anything.” He replied as he went back to sorting through Sam’s hand written notes. “Other than I figured out the messages our psycho sent you.”

The loud sound of porcelain shattering on the floor followed by Jensen’s yelp as he spattered his bare feet with hot coffee caused everyone to jump. Jensen turned on his partner irritation clear in the set of his jaw. “And you decided not to mention this first? Damn it, I swear to…”

“It’s a song.”

Jensen blinked in confusion. Had he said the message was a song?

Misha waited for his words to sink in.

“A song?”

“What song?” Jared spoke for the first time since they’d entered the kitchen.

Glancing at Jared, Misha sighed. “Not exactly a song but rather a phrase from a song. The first message delivered to you, Jensen, was a question. Can you hear the poison rain? I found a song by a band…”

“Thirty Seconds to Mars.” Jared replied.

“Yes, but how did you know?”

Jensen slumped against the counter edge, hands rubbing across his face. “Because the song it’s from is one of my favorites Hurricane. How did I fucking miss that?”

“I suspect because you’re exhausted and too damn close.” Sam offered. “Even Misha told me he was familiar with the band’s work and he didn’t see it at first.”

He’d loved that song for a long time and it still bothered Jensen he hadn’t caught it out of the gate. “Danni.” he whispered.

Misha raised a questioning eyebrow, “Danni?”

Stumbling to the nearest chair, Jensen slumped into it. He hadn’t thought of Danni in…Hell, close to three years. As he sat there, eyes closed against the bright light of the kitchen the image Danni formed as if she were right there in the kitchen in front of him and his heart lurched, skipping a beat.

When he’d arrived in Los Angeles, Danni had been one of the first people he met; bright, beautiful, and a fantastic sense of humor they’d become the best of friends. As time passed, he’d tried to make a go of it with Danni because he knew she was in love with him and his parents adored her. They’d still clung to the hope he would marry as his older brother had and have children. If there had been any justice in the world maybe things wouldn’t have ended the way they had.

“Danni was my best friend when I first came to Los Angeles. There was this whole group of us…You’ve met Chris.”

“Chris is in Boston?” Jared asked. “You didn’t say Chris was here?”

Jensen looked up everything that had happened over the past few days weighing on his last nerve. “Kind of busy with the whole stalker/killer thing, Jay!” he snapped.

As Jared opened his mouth to snap back, two things happened; Sam’s cell went off and the doorbell echoed through the house. Without a word, Jared disappeared through the kitchen door heading down the hall to the front door.

“Damn it.” Jensen mumbled. He hadn’t meant for it to come out like that, but the as they said the road to Hell was paved with good intentions.

“Maybe you should go after him.”

Jensen glanced at Misha from the corner of his eye and sighed. “Yeah, God knows if that’s Fuller he might take a swing at the fucker.” He stood and headed for the kitchen door pausing when Misha called after him.

“You can let me know the rest of the story about Danni when the dust settles.”

He waved his partner off and vanished from sight.

 

“What do you think?”

Fuller stood behind the mirrored glass rubbing his chin as he studied the man who sat alone in the interrogation looking for the entire world as if he needed to change his underwear after thirty minutes alone with Detective Stuart. Not surprising considering Stuart was one of the best interrogators they had in Homicide.

“I think he’s telling the truth.”

“I do, too,” Stuart agreed. “Did you run the report?”

“Yeah,” Fuller’s eyes never left the glass. “Last night an explosive device was detonated at Grimes Therapeutics. Guy’s lucky he’s still standing if you consider most of the GT building isn’t. The security officer Aaron Ashmore helped him out before the second device went off. According to the first responders if they had been in the building they wouldn’t have survived.”

“Did GT confirm the employment of this Devon Hargrove?”

Turning from the glass, Fuller began pacing the floor, hands thrust in his pockets, with an intense frown. “GT confirmed a PT by the name of Devon Hargrove is employed there, but this is where it gets interesting. Devon Hargrove doesn’t exist. On paper she does, but according to my contact at the Bureau she only appeared around two years ago before that zilch.”

“And what about this Christopher Heyerdahl he mentioned?”

“I’m waiting for the Louisiana state police to get back with us.”

Stuart pushed off the wall and cleared his throat. “Should we call Smith in?”

“Already had Pellegrino give her a call; not to mention I told him to have her bring Ackles and his boyfriend in when she came.” he snorted.

“Why bring in the boyfriend?”

One eyebrow snapping up, Fuller offered him a smirk. “Mr. Padalecki just happens to be a patient at GT, physical therapy for injuries he suffered back in LA. Now I don’t know about you, but that’s too big of a coincident to ignore.”

 

Jared was pissed…Well, not really pissed, but rather more annoyed than anything else considering the heart felt talk he and Jensen had earlier. He was a grown ass man and Jensen was still doing his white knight in shining armor routine. That coupled with the fact Chris was in town and by default Steve it simply grated on his last happy nerve. There were times he felt as if Jensen kept a part of his life separate from what they had as if he didn’t trust him even now after two years. As his hand closed over the doorknob, he felt Jensen’s hand settle on his shoulder.

“What?”

Stepping around, Jensen looked up into his exhausted eyes with a frustrated sigh. “Look, I’m sorry okay. I’ve just been…”

“Overwhelmed?” Jared’s eyebrows disappeared beneath his tangled hair.

Jensen dropped his gaze to the floor, feeling like the biggest heel ever. No matter what he said or did, he couldn’t seem to shake the desire to protect Jared. Maybe, the way his parents raised him gave him this hero complex or he was just a dick.

“Okay, I’ve been leaving you out of the loop, but then you haven’t exactly been honest and forthcoming with me either.” He glanced up at Jared eyes narrowed.

Jared crossed his arms in defiance and snorted. “Not made of glass, Jen. I get I should have been more open, but you knew…”

The sharp shrill of the doorbell made them both jump.

“Maybe we should get that.” Jared laughed. “If it’s Fuller he’ll probably break down the door before he rings a third time.”

“Be my guest.” Jensen snorted.

Opening the door, Jared sucked in a shocked breath and stepped back. On the porch, looking like a lost waif was someone neither of them had seen in two years…Traci Dinwiddie. She offered them an exhausted smile, shifting the army duffle she carried on her shoulder.

“So…” she drawled out glancing from Jared to Jensen. “You going to invite me in or stand there, gawking like idiots?”

Jensen cleared his throat and waved her in. “Come on in.”

She accepted his offer, brushing past Jared with a sidelong glance. “I suppose you want to know why I’m showing up on your doorstep unannounced. Trust me it wasn’t for my health…Well, maybe it was.”

Dropping her duffle to the floor, she turned and eyed the two men. Her expression didn’t give away a thing to Jensen, but Jared on the other hand knew why she was there the moment their eyes met. He’d never dreamed she would have heard his pleas much less fly across the country.

“What have you two gotten yourselves mixed up in this time?”

Jensen snorted. “Did Jared call you?”

“In a manner of speaking.” her head tipped to the side as she tried to capture Jared’s now elusive gaze. “What’s going on, Jared?”

Glancing between the two of them, Jensen bit his lip to keep from saying anything that could lead to more tension. All he wanted was to catch this fucker and end the insanity that had started the moment Sam had appeared in his office.

“Jared,” he spoke up eyes filled with confusion.

Jared refocused on Jensen’s worried expression. “I haven’t told you everything…Okay?”

“Okay.” It took all his self-control not to lose his shit.

Traci reached out, gentle hand settling on each of the men. “Maybe, it’s time you did.”


	14. Chapter 14

“Fuller wants to…” Sam trailed off spotting the young woman who stood between Jared and Jensen.

Jensen snorted, “Fuller is going to wait. Sam, Misha, this is Traci Dinwiddie. Traci, this is Agent Samantha Smith of the Bureau’s Behavioral Science Unit and Misha Collins my partner in crime…So to speak.”

The two women locked eyes and Jensen saw an emotion in Sam’s that made him wonder what was going on. They stared at one another for what seemed hours, but in reality was mere seconds and then Sam was pushing her chair back to make her way toward Traci. Traci stepped forward and lifted one hand to cup Sam’s cheek, eyes almost glowing with energy. To Jensen’s surprise, Sam didn’t flinch or pull away rather she leaned into the touch eyes drifting shut and Traci smiled. If Jensen didn’t know better, he would have thought the two women knew one another—intimately.

From beneath Sam’s clenched eyelids, tears began to form leaving trails of moisture down her cheeks. “I thought I was alone.” She whispered. “Then I found Jared.”

“Never alone,” Traci replied. “To find a third is a blessing.”

From behind them, Jared spoke up, “A third what?”

“A third sensitive,” Traci replied eyes never leaving Sam’s tear streaked face. “Do you know how rare a true sensitive is?”

Jensen snorted in amusement. “Not that rare since we have a room full of them.”

Traci’s hand slipped from Sam’s face as she turned aiming an arched eyebrow in Jensen’s direction. He felt heat rise in his face. Damn, but he had the worst possible timing when it came to jokes. Maybe, he was an idiot, but he figured the room could use a little less angst and a hell of a lot more humor.

“Still having a problem with this?” she questioned.

There was no point in lying, Jensen thought. He’d had a problem from the moment Genevieve Cortese had walked into his office and sent his world tumbling ass over apples. He exhaled and lifted his head to meet Traci’s eyes. There was no condemnation in her expression, no anger, hell there wasn’t even a sliver of frustration, there was nothing but understanding. Jensen didn’t think for a fucking moment he deserved a lick of understanding from Traci or anyone else. He’d run from L.A. it was that simple. He’d run and never looked back to those few bizarre days in early spring almost two years before when the surreal became a daily occurrence.

“Yeah.” he replied shame coloring his face. “Why else would we be in this fucking mess.”

Jared’s arms looped around from behind, chin coming to rest on his shoulder, “Not your fault, Jen. Sometimes we just have to face things we don’t understand no matter how hard it is.”

“He’s right, Jensen. Sometimes there are no answers.” Looking up from where he’d been going over the files, Misha shrugged. “Of course, I think we need to put the psychic family reunion on hold for the time being.”

Clearing her throat Sam swiped the tears from her face. “Misha’s right on both counts. The call I received was from Fuller. Apparently, a young man came in this morning claiming he knew the identity of the Hunter.”

Jensen’s eyebrows shot up as he pulled from Jared’s embrace, “Who?”

She moved back to the table, flipping through papers. “Okay…yeah here it is. The man who came in was a Ty Olsson.”

“Ty?” Jared gasped one arm lifting to brace against the wall. 

“He’s your—” Jensen started.

Jared nodded, all the color draining from his face. Knees trembling he began to sink to the floor. None of this made any fucking sense. How in the hell could Ty—his friend and PT—know who the hell this monster was that had been haunting him?

As his ass hit the floor, he lifted shaking hands to hide from the others in the room, and a roar filled his ears. Flashes of the last murder played against the back of his eyelids. This was different—worse—because before he was asleep, he could convince himself it was simply a dream, but he was wide-awake this time. The smell of fresh brewed coffee and Jensen’s cologne was strong in his nose as he felt the other man’s arm encircle him. He wanted to pull away, wanted to scream, but his voice—his very mind—betrayed him and refused to cooperate.

He was walking down a street, distant bells of a church muffled by the fog moving in from the river a few blocks away, and the distinct sound of buoys clanging. Glancing down he realized he was witnessing everything through the eyes and ears of a woman, stiletto heels clicking on the damp sidewalk.

She was crossing the street, focused on the flashing amber of the crosswalk sign. Behind the faint rumble of a car’s engine approached on the otherwise quiet streets. Glancing to the side, he could see the front portion of a taxi as it slowed. He…the woman walked toward the taxi as it came to a stop, window descending on the passenger side of the vehicle. All he could make out was the same figure he’d seen before; dark hoodie, leather gloves, no details of the face hidden in shadow. The woman laughed almost a sound of relief as she opened the door of the taxi. He tried to scream, tried to warn her, but he couldn’t. This wasn’t his body to control, not his fate, it was her fate and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

Fighting the pull he felt as the images faded he caught a glimpse of red and green, just a smear of iridescent color and then he was lying on the kitchen floor. His heart was hammering against his ribs and he was gasping for air as if he were a fish torn from the water and thrown on the deck of a boat. He could hear voices, but his heartbeat was louder, vibrating through his entire body, an electrical shock of adrenaline that left him wondering if he were having a heart attack.

“Jared! Damn it, what’s wrong with him?”

Jensen, he thought. He tried to speak—God, he really did—yet the words refused to come. He felt himself moved propped against the wall he imagined a thick blanket of warmth surrounding his shoulders.

“Jared, sweetie, can you hear me? It’s Traci. Listen to my voice and breathe.”

Yeah, breathing was a good plan. If he didn’t breathe, he might have that heart attack he thought he was having. He tried to focus, panting in short even breaths, and then the world began to come into focus. 

“Paper.” he croaked from between parched lips.

A notebook and pen appeared in his hands. Bracing the notebook against drawn up knees he began to sketch what he’d seen. It felt as if unseen hands guided each movement, forcing him to relive the vision repeatedly until it branded his minds’ eye. The only sound in the room was the scratch of the ballpoint on paper and for all Jared knew he could have been alone in the middle of a desert.

Seconds turned to minutes and time seemed to come to a stop before the muscles in his hand began to tremble. He tried to remember more, but the images faded quicker than he’d hoped they would. His vision blurred around the edges as a spasm sent the pen tumbling from his hand to the floor with a clatter, body slumping back into the wall.

“Amanda…Amanda Righetti.” He whispered.

Jensen was suddenly there in his line of sight and all he could do was offer a weak smile. “Her name was Amanda.” He repeated as Jensen cupped his face, lips grazing his sweat-dampened forehead. 

“Who is Amanda?” Jensen questioned, voice cracking with emotion.  
Jared blinked, vision clearing and Jensen’s face coming into focus. “The last girl he killed…The girl on the altar in the church.”

Pulling Jared into his arms, Jensen fought the tears burning his eyes. There was no way Jared could have known. Somehow, he’d known the last victim’s name and even the police didn’t know that. He’d also known her body discovered at the church was on the altar. God knew he could try and fool himself, hell he had, but there was no more lies he could tell himself. No more denial left in him. 

Two victims, two names, and there was only one conclusion left to come to. 

The Hunter wanted them both.

 

On the drive to the police station, Jensen and Jared sat silent in the back seat of Sam’s vehicle neither knowing what to say to the other. Their hands linked between them the only sign of solidarity either had shown. Neither of them had made a conscious decision to do so. But, both felt as if their world would shatter around them and no amount of glue would ever fix it.

Jensen squeezed Jared’s hand glancing at him from the corner of his eye. He looked wrung out, but even as exhausted as he was he managed a smile before he leaned over, head coming to rest on Jensen’s shoulder. 

“You guys doing okay?”

Nodding at Sam’s inquiry from the driver’s seat Jensen closed his eyes, “Yeah, as good as can be expected.”

“You know neither of you need to talk to Fuller if you don’t want to.”

“Yes, we do.” Jared met her gaze in the rearview mirror. “We can’t deny this monster is hunting us as well any longer.”

Sam nodded, gaze focusing back on the street and thoughts on the sketch Jared had done. They had a lead to follow at last…A partial plate on a taxi. It wasn’t much, but it was more than they’d had an hour ago. She wasn’t about to believe all the victims had been picked up by the killer this way, but maybe she was wrong. Maybe the answer to all their questions had been right in front of them all along. It made sense the killer would be able to move about the city unnoticed in such a way. To be honest who really noticed cabbies and on top of that, there were hundreds of them in Boston.

What bothered Sam though the most was the idea this monster as Jared had referred to him was indeed hunting both the men. It was apparent even to a blind man that this killer somehow knew either Jensen, Jared, or both. She glanced at her other passenger and swallowed hard at the way Traci was watching her without really looking at her.

“The answer is yes.” Traci turned to look at her.

“Yes is the answer to what?” Sam asked.

Traci turned away pale eyes focused on the passing street and released a breath. “The killer knows them both, but…” she hesitated.

“But…What?”

“Jensen is more important than Jared.”

 

The Hunter paced the length of the hallway, cursing in silence. The little whore had opened her mouth, confessed her sins to that irritating boy she worked with. None of this would have been a problem if the cunt had simply been where she was supposed to have been last night. She would have been nothing if she had…Nothing except ash and bone.

Turning on heel, he slammed his fist into the wall, plaster cracking and dust drifting to the floor in tiny flakes. All these years and she still had the nerve to open her mouth to the wrong people, get involved with the wrong people, and it never changed. When she’d been in Los Angeles he’d almost had her…Had almost ended the bitch after chasing her ass across the country, state to state.

And then Jensen Ackles had appeared…Gorgeous, smart, and a bitch to deal with. Not that he dealt with him personally. He’d watched from the shadows and never did the man know at least not back in Los Angeles. Always a single step away perhaps, he should have killed the fucker when he had the opportunity, but he’d looked in his eyes and recognized something. It was a flicker of understanding although how Ackles could understand was beyond him at the time.

It was after he’d killed Robert Cortese the Hunter finally understood what the two of them shared. They both desired justice and neither cared how much blood was required to get it. The way the press had eaten up the entire story was amazing. They’d consumed it as if they were starving and Jensen had refused to accept accolades, disappearing from sight, and slipping away to Sand City without so much as a howdy-do.

It had taken him a few months to discover where he’d gone, but by then the other one had woke from his slumber and in doing so had dug his perverted claws into Jensen. The Hunter had believed Jensen to be smarter than that, but he’d been mistaken. Perhaps, Jared had used his gifts to persuade the other man, manipulate him into thinking it was natural for one man to be with another, yet it wasn’t.

Jensen the purveyor of justice in a world gone mad had become the victim and the Hunter knew he was the only one who could save him. The only one who understood the need for justice in this mad world now needed justice for himself…A clarification of the truth amongst so many lies told by the great deceivers of society.

He glanced down at his fist and recognized the first step towards clarity, the spilling of his own blood in defense of his soul mate. Jensen deserved better than what that piece of manipulative shit could ever offer him and he would give him…

Mesmerized by the brilliance of the crimson flow of blood over pale knuckles he’d been distracted from his thoughts. The blood called to him, whispered his name in ways no other human being had every whispered it. Jensen. It was him, who he wanted to show the error of his ways to and no other soul. He would show him how both their souls once released from the clutches of Lucifer himself could provide them everlasting peace. Just as he had released those women from Lucifer’s clutches and gifted them with the same.


	15. Chapter 15

Fuller stood staring out the window, back to the murder board, unable to stand looking at it any longer. What was the fucking point? There was nothing more to glean from what had turned into a bloody media circus and the commissioner was riding his ass hard about making an arrest soon. What a joke. They had no suspects to speak of despite the guy who’d come in claiming to know the identity of the man that had the entire city in a panic. The Louisiana State Police had gotten back to him an hour ago and it hadn’t been pretty.

Christopher Heyerdahl was real or rather he had been. A perpetual fuck up the man had died in a fiery collision ten years before outside Lafayette, a crash so bad they’d only been able to identify his remains through use of his dental records. He’d had a rap sheet as long as Fuller was tall everything from petty theft to grand larceny and assault to manslaughter. He’d been in and out of Juvenile Detention and three days after his eighteenth birthday had managed to kill a man in some backwater bar in a knife fight. He’d served ten years for manslaughter, but even that didn’t change the man. Even if he had survived these murders were beyond anything even a slime ball like Heyerdahl would have concocted.

To make matters worse whoever Devon Hargrove was she seemed to have flat out lied to her co-worker. Heyerdahl had never been married much less to anyone who had kids. He’d been a wild one, even had a few long-term relationships, but they all seemed to end the same way, his last relationship had ended when his girlfriend had tossed him out on his ear for cheating. 

Now they’d hit another dead end and Devon Hargrove was in the wind.

 

Slamming the door open to her apartment, Devon tried to catch her breath. She’d fled the hospital after doing the worst thing she could have done. She’d put Ty in danger by working with him, but she’d put him in worse danger by telling him about her stepfather. In all the years she’d been running, she’d never told anyone about Chris and now…

There was no staying here in Boston any longer. The only way she could protect anyone was to run just as she had been running her entire adult life. It didn’t matter what happened to her, but she should have known better than to open up to Ty. A part of her though had believed he had the right to know why he’d almost died in the clinic the previous night. Christopher was getting desperate to eliminate her and she realized desperation led to sloppiness. He had no qualms about killing other people. He’d proven that over the years by killing all those women, each one a twisted love letter to the one woman he could never have again.

Devon had cursed the day her mother invited the monster into their home. Her mother had never been a good judge of character to begin with. Her grandmother told her that hadn’t always been the case, but with the death of her father, it seemed she no longer had the desire to be the woman she’d been. There were times growing up her mother would vanish, dropping her on the old woman’s doorstep in the middle of the night with no explanation. Devon relished those days spent with her grandmother, they were the few moments in her childhood she’d been happy.

Moving through the darkened apartment, she gathered the few belongings she felt she needed, packing them away in the faded army duffle that had once belonged to her father. She had no memories of the man just a faded photo from right before he’d been deployed to the Middle East when she’d been only been a couple of years old. The photo showed a tall, smiling man in desert camouflage, her mother smiling next to him with a two-year-old girl in red pigtails cradled in her arms. She traced one finger along the faded face of the man and she recalled how she’d often day dreamed of him returning to rescue her from the nightmare her life had become.

He never had returned.

She wiped away the tears trailing down her face and stuffed the photo in a side pocket. It was a childish hope, she knew that, but then children always clung to hope in a way adults didn’t. All she’d ever had was hope and now the well was beginning to go dry.

As she turned to head for the closet she heard a faint noise from the front hall and she froze, face going bone white. Christopher was a psychopath—she understood that more than anyone else ever had—but he was also brilliant. Her heart fluttered in her chest like a hummingbird’s wings as she took the final two steps toward the closet, sneakered feet quiet on the carpeted floor. She reached up, fingers wrapping around the 9mm handgun she kept on the top shelf of the small closet tucked between the folds of a blanket. 

The cool metal of the grip soothed her nerves as she slipped it from its hiding place, its weight comforting her even further. A part of her said Christopher would never show up here because it was simply not his style, but then he’d never tried to out and out kill her either. If she’d been at the clinic as she’d been scheduled instead of asking Ty at the last minute to switch she would have been dead…She knew it without a doubt.

Sliding the safety off, she turned, eyes locked on the bedroom door and the shadows beyond the circle of light from the single bulb overhead. Her ears pricked at any noise, but there was nothing except the muffled sounds of early afternoon traffic outside and the faint patter of rain on the ledge. Going back to the bed she lifted the duffle over her right shoulder and then lifted the gun, fingers tightening around the grip, barrel pointed at the gray square of the door leading into the hall. 

How long she stood there staring into the shadows, she had no idea, but there was no further noises. Cautious she made her way out of the bedroom, down the hall, and toward the front door. By the time, she reached the front door she could feel sweat trailing down her spine and her hands had begun to shake. She tried to tell herself she was being ridiculous. There was no one here…Least of all Christopher. He wasn’t stupid enough to attack her in broad daylight. 

No, Christopher would wait until she let her guard down. The bomb hadn’t worked, but then maybe she was wrong. Maybe he’d had nothing to do with that. Maybe it was simply a coincidence. Her grandmother though had taught her not to believe in coincidence.

Pushing open the apartment door, she slipped into the dimly lit stairwell and down the stairs leaving another life behind.

 

Arriving at the police station, Smith guided the small group through the tangled halls to the elevator and the upper floor where Fuller waited in his office. Jensen and Jared had remained silent through the remainder of the trip, fingers locked together. Jared looked as if he’d been through Hell and back and Jensen didn’t look much better. Misha had decided to go back to the offices he and Jensen shared. She wasn’t sure what more he hoped to find, but she knew if anyone could untangle this fucking web of insanity it was Misha. He’d been the best fucking profiler to come out of Quantico and she’d blamed herself for years for him leaving the Bureau.

She stopped outside Fuller’s office and turned to face her charges. Despite trying her best to ignore Traci she could still sense the other woman’s eyes on her. Over the course of her life Sam had searched for someone else like herself, hoping beyond hope she wasn’t a lone freak, and now she’d discovered two more. Traci seemed to be studying her, trying to get past the shields she’d erected all those years ago when her father was murdered. It bothered her that despite having the gifts she had she’d never been able to find the bastard who’d killed her father and yet…

“Sam.”

Shaking off her morbid memories, she looked up into Jensen fierce gaze. “Sorry, I was thinking about…it doesn’t matter. Why don’t you guys get some coffee and I’ll go in, smooth things with Fuller.”

Jensen frowned and she thought he was going to argue, but instead he nodded, fingers slipping from Jared’s for the first time since they’d left the brownstone. Turning away, Jared took a seat and Jensen headed down the hall to the nearest coffee machine. As she turned back to Fuller’s office door Traci’s hand settled on her shoulder causing her to jump.

“I want to speak with him.”

“He doesn’t know who the fuck you are, Traci.”

“And your point is?”

Sam shook her head in amusement. “Used to getting your own way…Are you?”

“Not really, Agent Smith.” Traci snorted. “If I were I wouldn’t have to deal with this shit.”

Glancing over her shoulder at Traci, she offered her a faint shadow of a smile. “Yeah, I know what you mean, girl.”

 

Fuller could hear them outside his office, but he wasn’t in any hurry to talk to Smith or anyone else for that matter. His stomach twisted in a knot, his skull felt pounded with a sledgehammer, and if he turned away from the vista beyond the window, he’d have to look at that damn murder board again. When he believed they’d figured a few things out James had called him from the interrogation room where he was talking to Ty Olsson for the second time.

The guy was genuinely shocked to discover his co-worker wasn’t who she’d claimed and was even more confused when he discovered Christopher Heyerdahl had been dead for a decade. James was convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt that Olsson wasn’t hiding anything from them. He had believed what Devon—or whatever the hell her name was—had told him after the explosion the previous night. He had no reason to doubt her. They’d been co-workers and friends for close to two years. Olsson had admitted he’d never been to Devon’s place, but that wasn’t odd to him, plenty of people liked to keep their private life private.

That coupled with the fact CSU had called letting him know they hadn’t found one usable scrap of evidence in Devon’s apartment caused his hair to stand on end. It was then he’d called Smith and told her he wanted to talk to Jensen’s boy Jared. He wasn’t one to believe in hocus-pocus, but he was beginning to believe he needed to change his stance on the subject. There was no usable forensic evidence left behind at any of the murder scenes, not a single fiber, fingerprint, or strand of fucking DNA. The papers were having a field day with these deaths and he was damned tired of not having a single lead to offer the Police Commissioner or Mayor.

He rubbed at the knot of pain forming between his eyes and crossed the office. He tried his damnedest not to look at the board, but he might as well have tried to fly to be honest. The eyes of the victims followed him, boring into his skull. He’d never failed to catch a break on a murder case within the first week. Those criminals who crossed his path always thought they were geniuses, but more often than not, they weren’t as smart as they thought. There was always something left behind, they might have to dig for it, but it was there. 

Opening the door, Samantha Smith’s startled face greeted him and he snorted. “What the hell are you waiting for…An engraved invitation?”

Smith opened her mouth as if to hit him with a smart-ass comment, but before she could the woman she’d been talking to stepped forward, offering her hand.

“Detective Kurt Fuller I presume. I’m Traci Dinwiddie and we need to talk.”

He stared at the offered hand for a moment then glanced up into her pale eyes. “Who the hell are you?”

“The one tool you’ve been missing, detective. Now are we going to talk or not?”

 

Misha sat at Jensen’s desk, looking through the piles of information they’d accumulated since his partner had decided to say yes to Sam. There were at least forty files on unsolved murders across the country matching the criteria of the Boston killings. It scared the crap out of him that these cases were never connected. From what he’d discovered, the murders spanned a decade, five murders a year per area leading up to Boston. The first set occurred in New Orleans exactly ten years before. The following year five more occurred in St. Louis and then New York, Detroit, Houston, Tallassee, Seattle, Los Angeles, and after close to two years of silence now Boston.

He was only getting bits and pieces, but even he knew someone had to know they had a serial killer on the loose. How had it gone on this long without the FBI getting a fucking clue?

Running fingers through his tangled hair, Misha swallowed back bile as he skimmed the file on New Orleans, the original set of murders. All five victims had been college students, younger than the ones here in Boston, but they shared a few things; red heads, tall 5’5”-5’10”, sexually abused, and tortured. Weeks after their disappearances, two of the victims’ bodies, discovered in outlying areas did not match the killers' MO. One dumped in the river had washed up on shore ten miles outside the city and the last discovered by a shrimper in the bay leaving the NOPD unsure if they were even victims of the same killer.

Pen in hand, Misha skimmed the files one at a time, scribbling notes as he went. He knew he should focus on the Los Angeles file seeing as Sam believed it was there the Hunter had connected with Jensen and Jared. But, he was a true believer in starting from the beginning and working your way forward. He was right to think of the beginning. The murders had become more elaborate with each passing year each detail peeling back as if the petals of a rosebud blooming in slow motion. His gut told him the first killings were those of an amateur, a first timer who was testing the waters so to speak. Every killer had to start somewhere, but why those girls? Why chose that particular location and number of victims?

He needed to call up NOPD see if he could ascertain anything else outside of what this jigsaw of a half-assed file offered. Reaching to pick up the phone, he jumped when it rang, a nervous laugh escaping him. This case, fuck this killer, had him on the edge of hysteria. Every sound, shadow, and movement sent him jumping from his skin. This was why he’d left the damn Bureau, the insanity of it all. Trying to calm himself down, he lifted the receiver.

“AC Investigations, Misha Collins speaking, how can I help you?”

“Jensen Ackles, please.”

“Jensen is out of the office right now. I’m his partner.”

There was a pause and then the man on the other end of the line cleared his throat. “You might be able to help. This is Detective Morgan with the Los Angeles City Homicide Division. Jensen asked me if I could get some information for him.”

“Jeff Morgan?”

“Yeah, Jensen and I were partners for a short while on the force. He said you guys were having some shit going down up there in Boston.”

Misha choked on the laughter threatening to explode from his gut. “Shit is putting it lightly, detective. We have a full-fledged fucking serial killer on our hands and I’m damned sure he was in your neck of the woods a couple of years ago—wasn’t he?”

It was quiet for so long, Misha thought he might have lost the connection. 

“Morgan?”

Jeff cleared his throat again. “You’d be right, Mr. Collins. That’s what Jensen wanted me to find out for him. Ask me if I could locate any unsolved murders matching a certain criteria.”

“What did you find?”

“Five cold cases none of which the bright boys in Homicide at the time connected. Damn idiots should have seen it or maybe they did and someone shut them up. Whichever it was, I have five female victims, early twenties, and red heads. The victims' bodies were disposed of at a second site after death. There was evidence of sexual assault, even torture, but here’s the thing they were only partially skinned." 

“Partially skinned?” he grabbed a pen and began scribbling notes again. 

“Yes, their faces were peeled right the fuck off.”

Misha stopped mid-word in his writing, dropped the pen, and started flipping through the notes he’d been taking. This was why they’d never connected the cases. Every city the killer had taken a different part of the victims’ body and skinned it.

“What about the coins?” he demanded.

“How did you know about the coins?”

“It doesn’t matter. Did he use the coins?”

Jeff sighed on the other end of the line. “Yeah, he did, but in the LA murders…he placed them where the victims’ tongues had been and sewed their mouths shut.”

 

There was something not quite right about Traci Dinwiddie or so Detective Fuller believed as he settled down behind his desk. It was in her eyes. It was something akin to those cornball ads from the comic books of his youth that claimed you could purchase x-ray glasses. He felt like Ms. Dinwiddie, whoever she was, had the ability to look straight through him and into his soul.

“Don’t be so freaked out.”

He glanced up into those eerie eyes and suppressed a shudder. “I’m not.”

She crossed her legs, eyes never leaving his, and for a moment Kurt Fuller—detective, a man who’d seen some of the most horrifying things—was terrified out of his mind. He wanted to get up and walk out of his office, not speak to the woman in front of him because of the glimmer of unnatural light he believed he’d seen in her eyes.

“This Hunter is something you’ve never experienced in your career before—am I right?”

He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed in a defensive posture over his chest, and nodded without speaking.

Traci released a breath neither of them had been aware she was holding. Glancing over her slender shoulder, he met Sam’s intense gaze, lips curled in a single silent plea. Listen. He didn’t want to listen. God help him, he wanted no part of what he knew she was going to say.

“Don’t worry, detective. The Hunter is very much human, a broken human, but a human nevertheless. Bullets will destroy the Hunter.”

It was his turn to sigh, a huge weight lifting off his shoulders. He began to think whatever or whoever this killer was, it wasn’t human. All those horrifying fairytales his grandmother had told him as a child had risen to the surface over the past few weeks. He’d began to question his own sanity despite his partner’s insistence that the Hunter as the papers had named him was no more than a pathetic psychopath with some sick need like any other they’d hunted. 

“Confusion,” Traci whispered.

Kurt frowned. “What?”

“This Hunter is confused, hurting, and this isn’t the first time. What they feel, what they want, it’s wrong on so many levels to them.”

He started to speak, but Sam shook her head. Turning back to Traci, he saw she was staring at the murder board, pupils blown wide despite the bright light in the office. She was biting at her lower lip, worrying it with an intensity he feared would draw blood.

“Jensen…” she sighed.

“What about Jensen?” Sam questioned from behind her.

Rising from the chair, Traci crossed the room to the board, one hand lifting as she arrived to trace the face of the first victim in the photo pinned there. “They were all beautiful, but they were all whores. They were abominations just as the first one, abominations in God’s eyes. Jensen is one too, but the Hunter will save him no matter how long it takes.”

Standing Fuller moved around his desk to where Traci stood, hand moving from one innocent face to another. “The first one?” he asked. 

“They were all warnings to her, the first one. Change your ways. Be what God intended you to be not some freak of nature.” Her hand dropped to her side and then she turned to face them tears streaming down her face. “Jensen will be the last.”


	16. Chapter 16

Jared sat leg jittering and eyes focused on the bulletin board covered in wanted posters across from his chair. If he were honest with himself, he’d take off running like the terrified child he felt he was. There was no way he was ready to face Fuller and reveal what he’d hidden from Jensen for weeks now. The idea that a murderous freak had invaded his dreams, hell his very mind, was tantamount to rape. He felt violated and if anyone understood what it was like to be violated by a stranger, it was him after what he’d went through in his short life.

“Jay?”

He jumped at the soft whisper and then felt even more the fool when he looked up into Jensen’s concerned gaze. A watery smile appeared on his face as Jensen offered him one of the cups of coffee he held before he took a seat next to him.

“You know you don’t have to do this.” Jensen offered.

Shaking his head, he lifted the paper cup of coffee cradled in his hands staring into the dark steaming liquid. “Yeah, I do, Jen. We all have our crosses to bear and this is mine.”

Cup lifted to his lips he gave Jensen a sidelong glance before taking a sip, eyes drifting shut as the warm bitter taste flooded his mouth. Jensen appeared lost in thought, tiny creases forming between his eyebrows and at the corner of his eyes. This was the last thing Jared had wanted, to worry the other man with things he had no control over. He loved Jensen more than his own life he always had, even before he’d met him. He’d been searching for those eyes that told him everything would be all right. 

This thing he had, whatever the fuck it was, had been a curse from the beginning. Add that he was gay, an ex-prostitute (although not by choice) and he looked at himself as cursed thrice. All he’d ever wanted was to be normal, be happy, and content. He’d never wanted to be a martyr like so many people made of their lives.

“This is my fault.” Jensen whispered. “If I’d told Sam to just…”

Before he realized what he’d done, the coffee cup collapsed in Jared’s fist, scalding coffee splashing over both his hands, and into the floor. He didn’t notice the pain as he launched from the chair turning on Jensen with a fury that burned brighter than Hades.

“Fuck you, Jensen!”

Jensen pushed up from the chair and tried to calm his partner. “Jared, you…”  
“No!” Jared flung his hands in the air, spinning away. “Stop being the fucking martyr already. None of this is your fault. Why the hell do you do this to yourself? Did it start with Jim’s daughter back in LA?”

“This has nothing to do with Jim or his daughter!” Jensen snapped. “This has to do with me. This fucker wanted me here and somehow you’re in his head and I would have done anything to spare you the horror of that. You’re an artist for Christ’s sake, Jay! I’m the one that carries a gun and kills people…Not you!”

Jared groaned and turned back, fists knotted at his side. “Is that all I am…A fucking artist? I don’t think you’ve gotten it yet. I see shit, Jensen! I see murder, rape, torture, and if there is one thing I could to do to stop this horror show in my head don’t you think I would have done it by now?” 

Spinning he slammed his fist into the wall, plaster caving in beneath the anger and pain rising to the surface. Tears welled in his eyes. 

“Jay, please…”

“No, Jensen. You need to understand this is who I am—warts and all. The visions are never going to stop they’re a part of me. If not this freak, it’ll be another one. It never fucking ends.”

Out of breath and out of words, Jared collapsed to his knees. He couldn’t continue explaining to Jensen something he didn’t even understand himself. Lindsey was there only when he failed to understand what his so-called gifts were trying to tell him. He’d never wanted this life, this fucking curse, and the last thing he needed was Jensen’s inexplicable desire to take the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“I’m sorry, Jay. I didn’t mean to…”

“You never do.” He whispered refusing to look past the veil of tangled hair covering his face. “Get off the fucking cross, someone else needs the wood.”

Pushing up from the floor, he shrugged off Jensen’s gentle touch.

“I need some air.”

Before Jensen could say anything further, Jared disappeared down the hall and through the exit door to the stairs. He stared at where Jared had been mere seconds before and wondered if he were ever going to fix things between them. He contemplated going after Jared and it was then he noticed the officers who’d gathered in the corridor. A flush crept up his throat and into his cheeks.

“What the fuck are you looking at?” he screamed. “Never seen a lover’s spat?”  
The officers scattered like cockroaches in a sludge-filled alley as Jensen turned away, fingers pulling through his hair. Every time he tried to comfort Jared, all he managed to do was screw the pooch in the worst way. Yeah, sure he couldn’t change the fact Jared had this gift, curse, whatever the fuck you wanted to call it. How could he? He wasn’t God.

The door of Fuller’s office opened and Sam looked at him as if she’d heard every fucking word exchanged between the two of them. For all he knew she had. He should have stuck to his guns, told her to stick the case where the sun didn’t shine, and he’d had every intention to do so. Then he’d come home—his one safe haven—and found the Hunter’s gift. He shuddered at the memory of the heart, fresh and bloody, tucked away in that Ziploc baggie surrounded with gold coins. He wanted to vomit all over again.

“Where’s Jared?”

He forced the urge to vomit down, rubbing the dull throb between his eyebrows. “He needed some air.” He mumbled.

Suddenly, Sam was right in front of him and he hadn’t even seen her move. He backed up face flushed and eyes damp, seeing something in her eyes he’d never wanted to see. In fact, it was the last thing he wanted to see directed at him. He didn’t need her pity. Pity was for fools and Jensen Ackles’ momma didn’t raise fools.

Holding out one hand, he shook his head. “Don’t.” he growled low in his throat. “The last fucking thing I need now is your god damned pity!”

Sam snorted. “The last thing I’m offering is pity. Pity is for fools and you don’t strike me as a fool. What you do strike me as though is a man who’s at the end of his rope.”

“Screw you.” He mumbled as his ass hit the chair.

“I think Jared might protest that.”

Jensen glanced up and although all he wanted was to be mad, he began to laugh. It burbled up from the pit of his stomach, something closer to hysteria than amusement, and exploded out of him. Seconds later Sam joined him as well leaving Fuller and Traci staring at them as if they’d lost their ever-loving minds.

Maybe they had.

 

Standing in the men’s room downstairs, Jared splashed cold water over his flushed face and wondered why he was taking his anger out on the only person who gave a damn. Maybe it was true what they said about there being a thin line between love and hate. 

He turned off the water and then lifted his head, staring at the man in the mirror. There were dark circles under his eyes, face pasty except for two bright red spots on his cheeks. His hair was tangled and damp. He was beginning to frighten himself with all the anger…This wasn’t the man he wanted to be it never had been. There were times—like upstairs—he could see his father in his actions. God help him if that were the case. Whatever had turned his father into the bastard he was Jared wanted no part of, but a human could only take so much before they fell hard into that dark pit.

Maybe, that was what had happened to this killer. Who was he to think the man had been born this way with a sick perverse desire to destroy what little innocence remained in this world of darkness? Humans all started out the same, innocent souls, dependent on those who’d brought them into this world. Sometimes those people who had children should have given it a second thought before they had. He knew that better than anyone else could. His father was as mean as a rattlesnake some fool stepped on in the middle of the Texas desert.

Then again, maybe the fucker had been born without a soul.

Taking a calming breath, he tried to tame the wild mane of his hair, and smoothed out his shirt. He owed Jensen an apology and come hell or high water he needed to talk to Kurt Fuller. Guy might be a dick, but they were on the same side. They both wanted to see the killing stop. 

 

Watching Devon through the window of the coffee shop across the street the Hunter wondered why she thought running was a good idea. She’d been running from his embrace for a decade from one city to the next and from coast to coast. At first, his love letters as she called them had been crude even sloppy, but now…Well, practice made perfect.

He glanced down at his hands and wondered if the blood on his hands guaranteed his entrance into Heaven. After all, he’d saved all those women by cleansing them of their wicked desires and purifying their physical bodies. It had taken a while for him to get it right and he was sure the God he knew would understand the learning curve required in the work. 

It was about the hearts and all they represented. The human heart was a thing of beauty and power when it was directed by the hand of God, but when the Devil infected it with his darkness it twisted upon itself into a thing so malformed as to be unrecognizable. It became a mass of sickness pumping the evil through the veins of its owner and infecting every cell of their physical being.

He knew about darkness. He had been darkness until the voice of God spoke to him, demanded he rise up, and take those infected and free them from Lucifer’s grasp. His first target had been the girl who called herself Devon now. As a child, she was the purest creature God had allowed him to discover, yet as she’d matured Lucifer had sank his fiery claws into her. It mattered not what he did to guide her from the Fallen One’s grasp it seemed he would never win. He looked upon Devon as his ultimate test. 

That was until she’d brought Jensen into his line of sight.

 

Slipping away from the conversation Sam insisted on having with Jensen and Fuller had been far simpler than Traci had thought it would be. She needed to speak with Jared and she needed to do so alone. The boy was fucking powerful. He held all the answers to who this killer was and how to catch them. The only thing was he didn’t understand what kind of power he held. Whether it was his conscious or subconscious mind holding him back, she didn’t know. She figured it was his conscious mind since she was positive Jared was who had contacted and revealed the five of hearts to her back in California.

Four victims so far and she knew the fifth was going to be Jensen. Yes, Fuller had pointed out all the other victims had been women, but she didn’t give a damn about his profile of the killer or Sam’s for that matter. This killer knew Jensen and she was positive it was in the biblical sense they knew him. Something had happened between Jensen and this killer at some point, something that had drawn Jensen into the tangled web he’d been spinning for far longer than the universe should have allowed.

She stopped at the bottom of the stairs, pushed open the door and headed out to search for Jared.

 

Cursing beneath his breath, Misha wove his way through the crowded streets heading for the police station, the pile of files and notes he’d compiled threatening to slid off the passenger seat and into the floorboard. He’d confirmed just how screwed they were which was nine ways to Sunday. Ten years this monster had crisscrossed the country leaving a trail of bodies in his wake without one fucking cop figuring it out. Not that he blamed the cops. Most cops were overworked, underpaid, and to be frank abused by the public they’d sworn to protect. People didn’t get how bad the job could get nor did most of them care.

He slammed the horn again, one hand shooting out to halt the inevitable collapse of the files next to him. The one thing he’d learned from Morgan during their long conversation was something he doubted Jensen was aware of, but he’d pinpointed the exact moment the Hunter had targeted his partner. The last victim in Los Angeles was someone Jensen had known, a girl he’d dated by the name of Danneel Harris. Morgan told him before they’d even recovered the body Jensen had already left for Boston. The connection between Jensen and the last victim hadn’t come to his attention until after Jensen had called him a few days before. 

As Misha turned the corner, someone stepped into the street, directly in the path of his car. A string of curses exploded from his mouth as he swerved heading straight for a light post. There was a flurry of horns and shrieking of brakes as his car jumped the curb, slamming into the concrete post.

The loud whoosh of the airbags deploying filled his ears as the seatbelt dug into his chest, body flinging forward with the sudden impact. Then everything went black and silent.

 

Across the street, the Hunter stood lost in the crowd as sirens filled the autumn afternoon with wails. Fists stuffed in the pockets of the hoodie, he watched as passersby made a beeline for the crumbled car to check on the driver. The ex-fed should have minded his own business, left well enough alone, but he hadn’t and now…

He’d be lucky to finish what he started here in Boston. Devon needed to stop running and it needed to stop now. Despite all the souls he’d saved he still hadn’t saved the one soul he’d set out to save…Devon’s soul. Now he had two souls to save and then he could rest in the arms in God at last.

Turning away, he vanished into the crowd as the first emergency vehicles arrived.


	17. Chapter 17

“Having fun hiding?”

With a drawn out sigh, Jared turned from the mirror. “If only I could hide.” Wadding the paper towel in his hands, he tossed it across the room. It hit the rim of the wastebasket, bouncing off to the floor in a damp mess. “Story of my life.” he mumbled, shoulders slumping forward.

Traci watched as he leaned against the worn tile of the bathroom wall, hands lifting to push back his bedraggled hair from a haunted expression. Yes, haunted was the right word, she thought as she crossed the space separating them. As he lowered his head, their eyes met and she could see him swallow back the emotion she sensed lying beneath the surface.

“Sometimes hiding is worse than being out in the open.” She offered watching as his eyebrows drew together to form a knot above the bridge of his nose. “I should know, Jared, I was where you are ten years ago; scared, lost, and then Loretta found me. Loretta was the best thing to happen to me in my entire life.”

Jared snorted. “So, what are you saying?”

“I believe you already know the answer to that question.” Arms folded she stared until he turned away, faint blush coloring his cheekbones. “There’s nothing wrong with allowing someone in, Jared. Yes, it’s hard, especially for people like you and I, but then we need to be grounded even more than most folks.”

“He treats me like I’m a fucking damsel in distress.”

Traci raised one brow, amusement shining in her eyes. “Don’t want him to treat you like one then quit acting like one.”

Head whipping around, Jared’s eyes darkened with anger. “I don’t act…” 

“Don’t lie to me. That bullshit might work with Jensen, but it won’t work with me. Did it ever occur to you why I’m here? Why I flew across the country on my dime without a moment’s notice and showed up on your doorstep?”

“Jensen thought I’d called you and you let him think it with that elusive comment you made.”

“I let him think it because it’s the truth.”

His frown intensified and Traci couldn’t help, but understand why Jensen loved him so much. It still astonished her that Jared was clueless about what he was capable of doing.

“When did I call you? I think I would have remembered picking up the phone. Besides I don’t even have your number.”

A burst of laughter escaped Traci. “You really don’t know…Do you?”

“Know what?” he spit.

She snorted. “Be as annoyed as you want to be, Jared. It seems to be your default setting when anyone brings up your gift.”

Pushing off the wall, Jared headed for the bathroom door. He wasn’t going to stand there and listen to her hocus pocus bullshit. Bad enough he had to accept he was capable of things most people refused to believe in, but he wasn’t ready…

“Red hearts...always red hearts.”

He froze mid-stride. “How did you…”

“You showed them to me, across thousands of miles, and four time zones. You reached out in your most desperate hour as you did in Los Angeles and spoke to me.”

Turning he glanced at her, fear in his eyes.

“Did you think Jensen lied to you about the astral projection? He didn’t. Why would he lie about something he experienced, something that had him convinced he was losing his mind. It wasn’t some fairy tale he made up to get in your pants or into your heart. I saw you and so did your sister. We all saw you when there was no way in hell we should have at least not by any logical, scientific reasoning.”

He stepped back stumbling, eyes going wide as saucers.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Jared, you are more powerful than you can imagine. Your aura shines like the sun, but when you’re near Jensen it explodes like a supernova.”

“No…” he choked out.

Crossing to him, Traci pulled him into her embrace. The energy she felt was all encompassing one moment and hidden the next. She hated what she had to say next, but she needed to tell him before the most important thing this life had gifted him with was lost to him forever.

“The Hunter was never inside your head, Jared.” She whispered against his heart. “You were in his…you found him.”

 

Jensen stood staring at Sam and Fuller as if they’d lost their ever-loving minds. “She said what?”

Clearing her throat, Sam glanced at Fuller and he nodded. “She said you were the next target. Five victims so far and you’re the designated sixth.”

“That’s fucking crazy!” Jensen snapped. “It doesn’t make a lick of sense. All the others were women. Why the hell would he suddenly decide to change his MO?”

Fuller snorted. “Fuck you got me, but she straight up said you were next. End of story. Of course, nothing this son of a bitch has done makes sense.”

Sam shook her head. “Maybe, not to us, but it makes perfect sense to him. And may I remind you this isn’t the first time he changed his MO. He changed it with Molly Quinn the fourth victim. Whatever his motives he’s latched onto you and he’s not about to let you walk away from this.”

Opening his mouth, Jensen jerked back in shock when Sam glared at him.

“You need to take this serious.” She growled. “This Hunter, he’s a psychopath, maybe even a sociopath, but he’s not stupid. He’s been ten steps ahead of the cops the entire time. Whatever he may or may not be he’s still dangerous as hell and you’re special to him.”

Fingers tangled in his hair, pacing the hall, Jensen felt rage rise in his gut as if flames were creeping up his throat and filling his skull. He’d never allowed his anger to run rampant, not even when he’d been hunting down the man who’d tried to murder Jared. None of what this bastard had done made any logical sense.

“What about Ty Olsson?” He turned to face Fuller.

“He gave a statement which turned out to lead us nowhere, but a dead end. The girl he worked with, Devon Hargrove, she doesn’t exist, and the man she told him was the Hunter has been dead for ten fucking years.”

“Are you sure?”

Fuller bit back the sarcastic remark he’d planned and answered the question, “Confirmed by the LSHP. Christopher Heyerdahl died in a car crash…”

Jensen froze on the spot, eyes going wide, “Who?”

With a frown, he double-checked the paperwork the LSHP had faxed him. “Christopher Heyerdahl, man had a rap sheet the length of my arm.”

“I know that name.” Jensen mumbled.

“How could you?” Sam demanded. “We didn’t even know the name until Olsson came in this morning.”

Shaking his head, Jensen spun in a circle, eyes locked on the ceiling. “This morning when Misha told me about the song lyrics…I started to tell you something, but then Traci showed up.”

She nodded. “Yes, you mentioned a name…”

“Danni…we were best friends when I first came to LA. We even dated for a while before I finally came out to her. It was the only time I regretted being gay.”

“So, what does this Danni have to do with the Hunter?”

Jensen sucked in a ragged breath. He hadn’t thought about Danni for years. After he’d broken it off, she cut him out of her life completely, heart broken and unable to forgive him. Not that he blamed her one bit. He’d been using her, hiding behind her like a fucking coward, and now he was doing the same thing with Jared. Well, not Jared per se, but rather the abilities he was manifesting. He was using those abilities as an excuse to hold Jared at arms-length so he wouldn’t have to give himself completely to the other man.

“Danni grew up somewhere in Louisiana, not sure where, she never told me. One night though when we were out and she’d had a little too much bourbon she told me about some guy her mother dated, and how he’d molested her from the time she was five. When she turned seventeen, she said things changed, but before I could ask, she clammed up. She said his name was Chris…Chris Heyerdahl.”

“Where is this Danni now?” Fuller asked.

“Don’t know…I guess she’s still in LA, but I haven’t seen or spoken to her in years.”

“There’s the fucking connection,” Sam pulled out her phone. “We need to track her down. Maybe, the LSHP were mistaken about who died in that car ten years ago.”

 

Misha woke with a groan, squinting as the room around him came into focus. The last thing he remembered was being in the car and on his way to the police station. He needed to get to Jensen, tell him what Morgan had told him. Sitting up, he cried out as his ribs protested.

“Fuck…” he hissed between clenched teeth.

“Yeah, I can imagine that hurts.” 

He glanced up through blurry eyes and focused on a young man’s face, too young he thought to be a nurse, “Where…what happened?”

“Let’s start with getting you to lay back.” 

Despite his slight stature and slender build, the young man managed to maneuver Misha as if he weighed nothing. As he lay back, Misha sighed in relief, pain in his ribs easing off. The young man smiled, dark eyes lighting up in amusement.

“I’m betting that feels much better, but this…” he reached out to the IV line, “is going to make you feel like you’re flying.” 

There was a faint burning sensation where the needle entered the top of his hand and then there was nothing. “Morphine.” he mumbled as everything began to blur around him.

The young man chuckled. “Yep, and before you’re out for the count I’m your nurse, you can call me Osric, and you are…” he reached for the chart on the wall.

“Misha…Misha Collins and I need you to call my partner.”

He raised one eyebrow. “Bossy aren’t you?”

Despite the load of morphine in his blood, Misha fought to stay awake. “Jensen…number’s in wallet…business card,” he felt as if he was flying. “Matter of life…or…”

“…death.” Osric finished as Misha slipped into oblivion. 

Most people would’ve written off Misha Collins’ words as some drug induced babble, but then Osric Chau wasn’t most people. Despite his youthful appearance, he was closer to thirty than one would suspect and he’d served time in the Middle East as a nurse. He’d seen more in a handful of years than most would see in a lifetime. When they’d brought in this one, he was damn sure it wasn’t what the techs thought. They figured he’d been on something when he’d crashed his car taking out a light pole.

He crossed the room to the closet and went through the guy’s clothing locating his wallet. The police would eventually show, but a simple accident wasn’t a priority when they had a serial killer on the loose. Osric had thought Misha looked familiar when they’d brought him in and now he knew he was right. Fingering the business card, he’d removed from the man’s wallet he read the name again, lips moving in silence.

Jensen Ackles.

He was the man who’d taken down Robert Cortese in California a few years back. A monster whose actions even the press found revolting. Glancing back at Misha, now unconscious in the arms of Morpheus, Osric headed out to call Jensen. 

 

Jensen’s head was spinning and he wanted it to stop. He’d uprooted his entire life and travelled to the other side of the country to escape what had happened in Los Angeles yet here he was looking back into the past. This monster he was chasing, the one haunting Jared’s mind, he couldn’t possibly be the man Danni had told him about all those years ago.

Slumping in one of the chairs, he scrubbed at his face, exhaustion finally catching up. Behind him, he could hear Sam on the phone to the Los Angeles field office, her words a blur of sound as he tried to focus. Any hope of focus snapped out of his reach at the persistent buzz irritating his ears.

“Are you going to answer that?” Fuller barked.

Glancing up at the other man Jensen realized the irritating buzz was his phone. Pulling it from his pocket, he prayed it was Jeff with something that might help catch this sick fuck before someone else ended up dead even if that someone else was him.

“Ackles,” he growled.

There was a moment of silence and then a man’s voice answered, “Jensen Ackles?”

He frowned. “Yes, who is this?”  
“My name’s Osric Chau. I’m a nurse over at Massachusetts General. Do you know a Misha Collins?”  
Jensen gut twisted in a knot. “Yes, he’s my business partner…Why?”  
“Mr. Collins was brought into our trauma center a couple of hours ago.” 

“Shit,” he rubbed between his eyebrows, knot of pain flaring. “What happened? Is he okay?”

“Auto accident…He’s got a concussion and a few cracked ribs, but he’ll survive.”

Standing Jensen headed for the office door. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

Osric cleared his throat. “Look, I don’t normally make these calls, Mr. Ackles, but Mr. Collins asked me to contact you. When the accident happened, he was on his way to see you. He said it was a matter of life and…”

“…death.” Jensen finished his mouth gone dry. 

“Yeah, and I believed him.”

“I’m headed there now.” Ending the call, he turned to face Fuller who studied him from across the room with narrowed eyes. 

“What was that about?”

“My partner was in an accident. He’s over at Massachusetts General.”

Fuller stood and walked around the desk, eyeing Sam who was absorbed in conversation with an agent in Los Angeles, “An accident?”

“What are you trying to say?” his thumb rubbed over the edge of his phone, nerves on edge.

“I’m damned sure you know exactly what I’m saying.” He moved in closer gaze flicking between Sam and Jensen as if he didn’t want Sam to overhear what he was about to say. “Look, we both know this sick fuck has been watching you…even stalking you.”

Jensen shook his head, anger coloring his face. “No, absolutely no fucking way, Fuller. I trust the people I have working for us. There is no way any of them could be the Hunter.”

“You sure of that, Ackles?” he leaned in closer. “Because I’m not and for all I know that sweet piece of yours might be helping him.”

Before he had a chance to process what he was doing, Jensen swung...hard. His fist connected with Fuller’s jaw and the other man stumbled back with a shocked expression.

“Son of a bitch,” Jensen cursed as he cradled his fist. “That fucking hurt!”

Fuller swiped at the blood dripping from his mouth. “You little bastard!” he hissed.

Glancing up Jensen snorted. “I think I broke my damn hand on your ugly mug.”

“I hope you did.” Fuller snarled. “What the fuck was that you dick?”

“Seriously?” he shook his fist, stretching his fingers out. “You just suggested that my boyfriend is a sadistic murderer’s spy or worse he is the fucking murderer. I was beginning to give you more credit, but my first opinion was obviously the right one…You’re an A-Class douche nozzle.”

Fuller rolled his eyes. “That’s the best you have, Ackles? I’ve been called worse by a street thug with a sixth grade education.”

“Well, if the nozzle fits.” He shrugged. 

“Do I need to cuff you two in separate rooms?”

They both looked up to see Sam leaning in the door, arms folded over her chest. If looks could have killed, they would have both dropped dead on the spot. She shook her head and kicked off the doorframe, clearing her throat. “If you idiots are done hosing the place with testosterone I’ve got some information to share.”

At least Jensen looked embarrassed, but Fuller refused to look in her direction as he removed a handkerchief from his pocket, wiping the blood from his split lip. She imagined he’d deserved the punch Jensen had given him. She hadn’t the faintest idea what had transpired between the two men to get them to this point, but Sam was positive Fuller had opened his mouth and the shit had started flowing. 

“So what did Los Angeles have to offer?” Fuller questioned, gaze focused on the street beyond his office window, “Anything useful?”

Sam wasn’t about to take the bait he was offering. Instead, she glanced toward Jensen who’d settled into one of the chairs. “You have some friends in LAPD’s Homicide Division, Jensen.”

He lifted his head and met her cool gaze head on. “Why do you say that?”

“J.D. Morgan has been annoying some people out there.”

“How?” he demanded.

The corner of her mouth quirked up in a half-smile, “I imagine you already know the answer to that. Seems he’s got a sudden interest in unsolved homicides that have a great deal in common with the one’s here in Boston. Is there anything you’d like to share?”

Groaning he slumped back in the chair. He’d hoped Jeff would be a bit more subtle, but it was obvious he’d sent his ex-partner into a swamp with man-eating alligators guarding the boundaries. “Fine…I admit I called Jeff, asked him to do a little snooping.”

“He did more than a little.” Sam offered. She moved to the other chair and pulled it around so it faced Jensen. Dropping in the seat, she leaned forward. “My contact out there informed me your buddy found your ex-girlfriend Danni.”

Jensen sat up at the tone of her voice. “Please tell me she’s okay.”

Leaning back, Sam shook her head. “I can’t tell you that.”

Head dropping forward he covered his face with trembling hands. His heart felt as if it were shattering, breath caught in his throat and eyes burning. Danni had been his savior when he first came to Los Angeles, guardian angel, best friend, and once upon a time lover. He couldn’t—no wouldn’t—think about what had happened to her. 

“I’m sorry, Jensen.”

“What happened?”

Fuller turned from the window. “Maybe you shouldn’t know.”

His chair flipped back onto the floor with a crash as Jensen stood. “Fuck you, Fuller!”

“What the fuck is your problem, Ackles?”

Sam found herself caught between two hurricanes and she’d had enough. Standing she kicked back her chair and screamed at the top of her lungs. “Both of you just fucking stop it! None of this is helping!”

With a roar of anger, Jensen tried to push past Sam, but she stopped him with an iron grip on his arm. He turned fury burning bright in his eyes. “Let the fuck go of me,” He hissed beneath his breath.

“No.” she met his glare with one of her own. “You’ve been fighting me from the second I met you…Why? Are you that fucking scared?”

“I’m not scared of anything.” He growled.

Sam’s expression softened. “We’re all scared, Jensen, the whole damn lot of us. We can deny it, lie to ourselves until Hell freezes over, but in the end we’re all fucking terrified.”

“Speak for yourself!” He pulled from her grip and headed for the office door.

“She’s dead. They found her body after you left Los Angeles.”

Jensen stopped in his tracks, fighting back tears. Danni had been a huge part of his life long before he’d found Jared. If he were honest she’d been the reason he’d come out, but by the time he’d gotten the courage it had been too late for both of them. He’d shattered her heart, led her on because he’d been too fucking weak. Had the man she’d told him about found her when she’d been at her weakest?

“Was she…” he paused, swallowing in attempt to work up moisture in his dry mouth, “Was it him? Please tell me…it wasn’t him.”

Sam released a ragged breath, hand held up to silence Fuller before he had a chance to speak again. “I’m sorry, Jensen, I truly am.”

Before she had a chance to say anything further, he was gone. Wake of silent grief in his path.

 

Standing outside the police station, hands burrowed in his coat pockets, Ty Olsson looked up at the storm gray sky. A chill slithered through his aching body. Some part of him felt as if he’d betrayed Devon by coming here. What she’d told him though shouldn’t be a secret not even between friends. It was a half-truth of that he was certain yet she’d been terrified beyond anything he’d ever seen and Ty had seen a lot.

He huffed out a breath and then shook his head taking the stairs slow. That damned blast had left his body a mass of bruises. After Detective Stuart’s interrogation, on top of that, all he wanted was a long soak in a hot tub and at least twelve hours of sleep.

As he hit the bottom of the stairs, he glanced up, and caught a glimpse of someone watching from across the street. His eyebrows drew together in a frown as he tried to get a better look at the figure through the heavy rush hour traffic. As he stepped closer to the edge of the sidewalk the hooded figure darted into a nearby alley, shadows swallowing it from view.

A gust of wind swirled up the busy street, the hairs at the base of his neck prickling, but the chill in the air had nothing to do with it. Ty had never considered himself a paranoid person yet he was positive what he’d just seen had something to do with Devon’s confession. She was the one who was supposed to be working last night at the clinic. If she’d been the one caught in the blast, he had no doubt she would be dead right now.

Another chill travelled through his body as he tugged his coat tighter and headed down the street toward the bus stop. He needed to get home now. He needed off the street. As he continued down the street, walking faster, he was positive someone was watching.


	18. Chapter 18

Jared pulled away from Traci without a word and went to the sink to splash cold water on his face. There was no way he was going back to Jensen looking like a distressed damsel. Traci was right he had been acting as if he needed rescued and Jensen was the type of man who felt the need to rescue the lost souls of the world. If he hadn’t Jared wouldn’t have been standing here in this less than hygienic bathroom staring at his reflection.

“You’re right,” he sighed catching Traci’s gaze in the mirror. “I’ve been running my entire life from who I am. It should have stopped years ago.”

Traci smiled, eyes shining with what could have been pride although Jared had never seen what that looked like in his entire life. She moved closer, one slim hand settling on his broad shoulder in a gesture of solidarity. He offered a smile to her in return, an honest to God smile. Just her presence assured him he could do this. He could be as strong for Jensen as he’d been for him back in Los Angeles.

He turned, wrapping his arms around her. “Thank you,” he whispered in her hair, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Thank you for not looking at me as if I’m a freak.”

“You never were a freak.” She replied returning the hug. “Neither us were. People just never understood us.”

 

Tumbling out into the twilight streets, Jensen stumbled down the stairs jerking on his jacket as he hit the sidewalk. He had no idea where he was going, Sam had driven he and Jared here to the station. It didn’t matter though his focus should be on taking down that son of bitch, but all he could think of was how he’d failed Danni. If he’d only been honest from the moment they’d met then she might still be alive. He shuddered, thoughts drifting to that poor girl laid out like a side of raw meat in the church. She’d been tortured, raped, and skinned, a message from the Hunter to him. Had Danni suffered the same?

Bile rose in his throat as he leaned against the retaining wall of the police station, scrubbing the drying tears from his face. Could he have stopped this? Saved those girls who’d died here before he’d ever left Los Angeles? 

“Damn it,” he hissed between clenched teeth.

The hairs at the base of his skull prickled. He knew he was watching just as he’d known the bastard had been there when he found Molly Quinn’s heart. He pulled his hands back from his face staring down at his palms. He was sure if he stared hard enough he’d see blood staining them yet they remained clean. This hadn’t been what he’d wanted from his life. Never had he wanted to take another human’s life or be responsible for a string of deaths by being a coward.

He looked up as the first drops of rain started to fall from the darkening sky, eyes closed and relishing the coolness against his overheated skin. Why he’d run was between him and whatever power existed beyond this mortal coil. If he died today, he knew without a doubt he’d go to Hell. After all, wasn’t the path to Hell paved with good intentions?

“Jensen.”

Sighing, he turned his head to see Sam on the steps with a look of concern. “What do you want from me?”

She stepped down so she stood in front of him and reached out, hand grazing his cheek. He flinched and she drew back, concern replaced with disappointment. “I want you to realize how special you are and how much you have to offer.”

With a snort, he turned searching the street for who was watching them both. “All I’ve ever done is fuck shit up.”

“You didn’t fuck up with Jared.” She offered.

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, “You so sure about that, Ms. FBI?”

“There are no assurances in this life, but me personally I think you two were meant to be. Look at what you’ve been through. And somehow, you still found one another. That’s got to mean something…Doesn’t it?”

She had a point. Once upon a time, he’d believed in a higher power, but after what had happened with Justin all those years ago, he’d lost his faith. For years afterward, he’d only seen the darkness in life never the light. It had sent him tumbling into the bottom of a bottle and through a string of unhealthy relationships including his dalliance with Danni. Then Genevieve Cortese had showed up on his doorstep searching for answers. 

Tossed head first into the life of what he believed was a dead stranger it felt as if he were on the verge of losing his mind. But bit by bit the pieces had fallen into place and Jensen began to wonder if perhaps he’d been wrong about God being a lie. 

“Maybe,” It was all he was capable of offering.

She sighed. “Fuller is going to meet with Molly’s parents in the morning.”

“What about Amanda?”

“Stuart is still trying to track down next of kin.”

Jensen focused his attention back to the storm swept sky. “I need to go check on Misha.”

“Come on then.” Sam started back up the steps. “We need to find Jared and then I’ll drive you over to the hospital.”

 

As Sam and Jensen headed back into the police station, he watched, cursing beneath his breath. If Jensen hadn’t come out when he did, Ty Olsson might have joined those he’d saved from the filth staining their souls. It wouldn’t have been the same being as Olsson unlike the women he’d saved was never tainted. He’d only happened to befriend the wrong woman.

And speaking of Devon...A wicked smile curved his lips as he adjusted his hood. The little tramp had run, but this time she hadn’t ran far. She thought she was smarter than him. Problem was that she’d thought she was always ahead of him in this game they’d been playing. She was mistaken though. He’d always been closer than she imagined. He was always simply around the corner and not down the block.

Stopping Jensen’s partner had turned into a temporary solution and not a permanent one as he’d hoped. It was apparent he needed to put the fear of God into the two men not to mention Devon. Agent Smith didn’t worry him in the least. She’d looked straight at him at the last two crime scenes and hadn’t even known it. People like her always thought they had all the answers of course they never did.

Turning away, he headed down the street, vanishing into the gathering darkness.

 

The room was dim, filled with shadow when Misha came back to the land of the living once more. For a second he was confused, unsure of where he was or how he’d gotten there. Then it came back to him. The accident, hospital, and the young nurse…

“How are you doing?”

He jerked to his right and immediately regretted it, the room swimming around him as he tried to focus on the man setting in the seat next to his bed. “You’re the nurse…from earlier.”

Osric smiled. “I’m surprised you remember any of that.”

“Jensen,” he groaned as he tried to set up and get out of the bed.

Immediately, Osric was on his feet insisting he stay put, pushing him back gently against the pillows. “You’re not going anywhere yet.”

“But, I need to…”

With a snort, the younger man rolled his eyes. “Your partner is on his way. I called him, let him know you were here and what happened.”

Misha groaned and settled back into the pillows, eyes drifting shut. “What’s taking him so long?” he mumbled.

“Rush hour,” Osric offered settling back in the chair. “Downtown can be a bitch this time of day.”

A knock at the door interrupted any further conversation. Peering around the corner, a dark-haired man pushed into the room, simple cylindrical vase filled with clusters of orange flowers in hand. “Hi, I have a delivery for a Misha Collins. Have I got the right room?”

Shifting up, Misha frowned. “Yeah, that’s me, but I don’t know who the hell would be sending flowers.”

“Your partner…” Osric piped up.

Misha rolled his eyes. “He’s my business partner not my boyfriend and I’m damned sure he’s not the flower sending type.” 

Signing for the flowers, Misha studied them as if a live crocodile had crawled straight into bed with him. They were beautiful even if orange wasn’t his favorite color. Each tall stalk was topped by clusters of star-shaped flowers the bright orange of pumpkins with a tiny yellow centers. Vicki would have loved them. She’d always loved bright, primary and secondary colors; it was the artist in her.

“Asclepias tuberosa.”

He blinked back the tears threatening to emerge at the memory of his long dead wife. “What did you say?”

Osric looked up from the book he was reading, “Asclepias tuberosa…the scientific name for those flowers.”

“How do you know that?” he asked as he traced the delicate flowers with one fingertip.

“My mom…she was a botanist and herbalist. I used to follow her around the greenhouse and drove her crazy asking questions.”

Misha pulled the white envelope from the arrangement, rubbing it between his fingers. “Why does something about that name seem familiar?”

“Well, they are part of the milkweed family and common in North America.” Osric offered with a shrug of his shoulders.

Frown creasing his brow, Misha slipped a finger beneath the envelope flap. Something felt wrong, not to mention the weight of the envelope in his palm. An envelope, especially one this small shouldn’t feel this heavy. There was something other than a card in there. 

The paper ripped easy enough, jagged and uneven beneath his calloused fingertip. His pulse was loud in his ears as he repeated the scientific name of the flowers in his mind.

Asclepias tuberosa

That was it he thought, tuberoses. The Hunter had left flowers at all the murder scenes. The flowers had been sweet, fragrant…

He tipped the envelope and the card slipped out along with something else. Something heavy and all too damn familiar tumbled from his hand and onto the snowy sheets.

“Is there another name for these flowers?” he questioned eyes widening as he flipped over the card.

Osric frowned as an expression of horror began to unfold on Misha’s pale face. “Yeah, they’re called Butterfly Weed. Are you okay?”

“Call, Jensen, again.”

“But…”

Misha whipped his head around, flush of anger sweeping up his throat, “Just fucking call, him…NOW!”

Nearly tripping over his feet, Osric grabbed his phone and headed out into the corridor, dialing as he ran. With his departure, silence descended over the room, a silence Misha knew all too well. It was one that had overcame him that night so many years ago as he’d stepped over the threshold of what had once been home.

Lying in his lap was a gold coin, the signature of the Hunter.

In his hand was a message, yet this one was for him.

On the card was a butterfly with orange and black wings—a Monarch. Next to the butterfly were a few simple words, but the message was clear.

TELL ME WOULD YOU KILL TO SAVE A LIFE

The next thing he heard was the shattering glass as he swept the vase off the tray into the floor, followed by his own scream.


	19. Chapter 19

Finding Jared and Traci was far easier than Jensen had imagined. After all the last time he’d seen Jared he’d been pissed nine ways from Sunday, but when they found him descending the stairs to the lobby he was smiling. Relief swept over Jensen at the sight of that brilliant smile, dimples cleaving his cheeks. Didn’t matter to him what Traci had done or said to bring it out. All that mattered was it was there.

“Jared.” He called out.

Jared looked up and for once, the smile didn’t vanish. Working his way down the stairs carefully he headed across the lobby straight for Jensen who met him halfway. When they were face to face, he leaned in and captured Jensen’s lips in a sweet, lingering kiss. After a few minutes, Jensen pulled back, reluctant, eyes filled with surprise.

“What was that?” he questioned.

Jared laughed, “A kiss, dork.”

“But, I thought…”

Jared shook his head. “See that’s the thing, Jen, you’re always thinking. You do it too damn much sometimes.” He reached out free hand gripping Jensen’s shoulder. “Traci helped me see we’re both idiots in our own way. You and your white knight complex and me feeding it with my…” his cheeks flushed.

“You don’t have to say anything else.” He folded his hand over Jared’s where it rested on his shoulder. “I never wanted you to suffer again. I do understand it’s not my job to save you from the world. Isn’t like you’re a Disney princess although, you have the hair to be one.”

Snorting, he rolled his eyes. “At least I don’t look like a porcupine on crack.”

Jensen burst out laughing as he pulled Jared into a hug. There was nothing more to say. Whatever they needed to discuss from this point forward was private. Jared was right on both counts. Since Sand City, he’d treated Jared as if he were the frailest porcelain when the man had reached through the barriers of life and death to get to him. In truth, Jared was one of the strongest people he’d ever known.

“Jay,” he pulled back and met Jared’s warm gaze, “there’s something I have to tell you.”

Jared’s smile faded. “What is it?”

He cleared his throat. “Misha’s been in an accident. He’s at Massachusetts General.”

“Jesus…Is he okay?”

With a shrug, Jensen turned toward the front doors where Sam and now Traci were waiting, lost in their own conversation. “According to the nurse who called he’ll survive. Not sure if that’s a good thing considering everything else.”

“Jensen, what the hell kind of…”

“I never told you the entire story behind Misha leaving the Bureau.”

Jared frowned. “I know his family was killed.”

“It was more than that.” Jensen turned back to face him. “The last case he worked on was the Butterfly Killer.”

Jared’s eyes widened. Even he’d heard of the case despite everything he’d been embroiled in at the time. One of the few female serial killers, outside of Aileen Wuornos, captured and convicted with the Bureau’s help.

“You’re joking.”

Shaking his head Jensen swallowed back what felt like betrayal. He’d always believed Misha’s story was his and his alone to tell. Hell, he hadn’t known the complete truth until Sam had shown up. He’d often wondered what had made the guy blame himself for what Julie McNiven had done. Misha had been a profiler, he’d been working behind the scenes and it wasn’t until Sam had appeared in Boston he’d broken down and filled in the blanks.

“Julie McNiven murdered his wife and son.”

“Fuck.”

Jared’s comment said it all in a nutshell. If he was right about Misha's accident, they were all well and truly fucked. He’d seen the man drive and there was no way he’d lost control of his vehicle. Despite his suspicions, he hadn’t voiced them to Sam or anyone until now.

“The son of a bitch has been watching us from the beginning.”

“What?” Jared limped closer.

“The Hunter,” Jensen growled.

“I thought we were talking about Misha.”

He shook his head. “We are…I am…”

“Jensen, what the hell is going on?” Jared asked. “Are you okay?”

A shaky laugh exploded from Jensen. What the fuck was he supposed to say?

“No, I’m as far from okay as any human can be.” He steadied his breathing. “Remember Danni?” he glanced from beneath his lashes at Jared, color draining from his face as the name passed his lips.

Jared moved closer, tap of his cane louder than it should’ve been to Jensen’s ears. “She was a friend of yours…Right? When you first came to LA?”

He nodded. “I’m surprised you remember.”

“I do listen when you talk.” For a split second, Jared appeared offended and then he released a frustrated breath. “I’m sorry. Danni was an important part of your life before you ever…”

“She’s dead.” He nearly choked on the words.

“Jensen, I’m so…”

Hand held out, body trembling with anger and grief, he whispered. “Don’t say it. Please.”

When he’d seen the beauty of Jared’s smile, his heart had leapt and then it had tumbled as quickly. Everything he’d prayed for revealed in the moment he’d seen that smile and yet…

“How did she die?”

Jensen looked up, eyes red and damp, “The Hunter.”

Eyebrows drawing together in a grimace, Jared cleared his throat. “What are you saying? That the Hunter was in Los Angeles?”

“Yeah,” he replied. “The son of a bitch knew Danni. She tried to tell me about him years ago. He’d been hunting her and…”

“He finally found her,” Jared whispered.

Taking a calming breath Jensen straightened his spine, eyes bright with fury. “And now he’s gone after Misha.”

“Are you sure?”

The corner of Jensen’s mouth curved in a wicked smirk. “Oh, yes, I’m fucking positive.”

 

Misha sat staring out the window wishing with all his heart for a drink stronger than anything available in the hospital. If he had the energy, he would have already checked out and headed back to the office, but from what he understood his car was a complete loss and the police still wanted to speak with him. Well he had a few choice words for the Boston PD, but it could wait until Jensen arrived.

“Would you like me to get rid of the flowers?”

He glanced up at Osric. “No, just put them in the bathroom.”

The young man twitched and Misha wondered what else he could want. “Yes?”

“You broke the vase.” Osric cleared his throat. “Do you want me to keep it?”

“Leave it…leave it all.” He sighed.

Osric vanished from his sight with a curt nod. A part of him felt guilty for snapping at the young nurse, but he didn’t have the energy to apologize. All he could see was that damned card with the butterfly and feel the weight of the gold coin in his palm despite having left them where they fell. If he closed his eyes, he could see Vicki’s face the one thing he had no desire to remember. He’d wrapped himself in a cloud of alcohol and work over the years in an attempt to forget and for the most part, it worked. There was the occasional exception though; deep seated nightmares.

Had he only kept his dick in his pants life would have been so much different. God he wished he’d never met Sam Smith or become obsessed to the point of insanity. He could blame her all he liked, but in the end, it was his own shortcomings that had ended a life most would have sold their soul to possess. The bastard was trying to distract him and he couldn’t let the games of a twisted mind get in the way.

There was more to this entire thing. He had all the pieces of the puzzle it was simply a matter of connecting them to form a cohesive picture. The Hunter had started his reign of terror in New Orleans a decade ago from what he’d managed to sort out. He’d been moving all over the country in those ten years leaving behind a trail of bodies. The question was why he’d travelled so far and wide. The standard answer might be the Hunter was an over the road trucker, but it didn’t fit. If that were the case, the deaths would have been over the course of days not years, so he had to have settled in his hunting ground. He would have had a home, a job, and appeared normal in every sense of the word.

“Damn it,” he mumbled. “There has to be something I’m missing.”

The words on the card played over in his mind. Maybe the message was similar to the one Jensen had received. Music seemed important to the Hunter, lyrics working as the voice of his sick mind, and there was no doubt he was sick. There was a point to everything he’d done, a reason that they might not be able to see, but it was there.

Standing, Misha made his way back to the bed where the coin and card remained, light catching on the shiny surface of gold. He reached out fingers hovering over the card before he changed his mind and picked up the coin. The coins were a part of the MO with the Los Angeles and the Boston victims. Had they been with the other victims or were they another message?

 

During their drive to the hospital, silence enveloped the car. Jensen and Jared sat in back, shoulders braced, and hands folded together in a sign of solidarity. They’d both been fighting their true natures for so long neither had seen what it was doing to them. Jared had been fighting the longest and hardest, living in denial for too many years. He’d feared there was no hope of acceptance by another human being.

Now he had Jensen and Traci. One he loved more than life and the other…well he wasn’t quite sure how he felt about Traci. On one hand, he believed she could be an ally perhaps even a good friend. On the other hand, though she scared the holy living crap out of him. The power she had was frightening. He didn’t care for the idea she’d somehow connected to him thousands of miles away and dropped everything to come to Boston. 

The sudden buzz of Jensen’s phone drew him from the emotional confusion of his mind. He glanced over as Jensen shifted in the seat to retrieve the phone from his pocket with a low grumble.

“Yeah?”

“Mr. Ackles, this is Osric we spoke earlier.”

Jensen glanced up at Jared who had lost all the color in his face. “What’s happened? Is he okay?”

There was a slow exhale on the other end of the phone and then Osric cleared his throat. “Well, physically like I said before he’ll be fine, but he’s as far from fine as you can get mental department.”

He swallowed back the bitterness rising in his throat and asked again. “What happened?”

“There was a delivery…some flowers. It shook him up bad. Not the flowers…”

“There was an envelope—wasn’t there?” Jensen offered, voice cracking.

Osric sighed. “Yeah, how soon before you get here?”

Glancing up at the rearview mirror, he captured Sam’s gaze. She offered a quick nod and flipped a switch siren and lights kicking in as she hit the gas.

“Fifteen minutes.” He hung up without waiting for a reply.

 

Standing in the harsh light of the open refrigerator Ty stared at various take out containers and wondered if he’d done the right thing. He reached in the door, pulled out a bottle of Sam Adams, and twisted off the cap. Taking a swig from the bottle, he slammed the door shut, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. This was not how he’d pictured his time off this week—not by a fucking long shot. 

Whatever nightmarish pile of shit he’d stepped into had his nerves on edge. After Devon had fled his hospital room the night before he’d tried to call her, but she wasn’t answering her phone. Couple that with her confession, the interrogation at the police station, and the figure he’d sworn he’d seen outside on his way here he felt his world twist inside out. He knew about the Hunter. There was no way anyone in Boston didn’t. It had been the main story every night on the news since the discovery of first victim’s body.

“Jesus, Devon.” He whispered taking another pull from the bottle. “Why didn’t you come to me before the shit hit the fan?”

Kicking off the counter he moved through his apartment to the living room. He flipped the light switch as he passed through the door, overhead almost blinding after he’d stood in the dark for too long. He was terrified if he was honest with himself, but being honest wasn’t going to change the decision he’d made. Now Devon was out there on the streets some crazed motherfucker stalking her while he murdered a few innocent girls on the side.

Across the room, the glow of the streetlights pierced the slats of the blinds painting stripes of gold along the dark wood of the floor. Most nights he would have lifted the blinds preferring the soft gold of the streetlights to the harsh light of the overhead. Tonight though he was feeling not quite right, he felt watched…not alone. If someone had followed him from the police station he wasn’t about to give them a free peep show.

Finishing the beer in hand, Ty moved to the windows and stood thumbing the rim of the bottle lost in thought. Despite not wanting to look, he felt the overwhelming urge to do so, see if he were simply being paranoid or if the tickle at the base of his skull had a reason other than his imagination. Bottle sat aside he reached out to push to slats apart. As his fingers grazed the cool metal, a sharp knock echoed through the apartment from the direction of the front door.

All the hairs stood up at the base of his neck as he turned in the direction of the door. It could be anyone. Maybe it was Devon finally come to her senses and ready to speak with the police about the entire mess. His gut twisted in a knot as he stood silent and waiting for another knock at the door, beer he’d drank threatening to rise up his throat.

No second knock came.

He continued waiting for what seemed an eternity, but was no more than five minutes. There was no sound of footsteps retreating down the hall. Perhaps the knock hadn’t been at his door after all. 

Making his way back to the kitchen he retrieved a knife from the block and headed for the door. The voice in the back of his head was telling him he was being ridiculous. The person he’d seen when he left the station could have been anyone. His nerves had been edge from the moment he’d entered the interrogation room. Hell, truthfully his nerves had been on edge since the explosion at the clinic. He took a calming breath, lifted one hand to open the door of the peephole, and leaned forward to peer through into the hallway. 

Ty didn’t even have time to register the pain as the razor sharp blade splintered the glass, pierced his eyeball, and shattered the socket. Bone fragments lodged in his frontal lobe as the blade pulled out and he slid to the floor as if a ragdoll.

Beyond the door, the Hunter turned away, blade dangling from gloved fingers and leaving a trail of blood droplets as he slipped through the stairwell door.

He should have minded his own business. It was a shame he hadn’t.


	20. Chapter 20

“Jesus fucking Christ, what is happening in this city?” 

Fuller stood staring down at the mess that had been Ty Olsson. The guy hadn’t deserved this, hell no one deserved to go like this. Despite it being close to ten every tenant in the complex seemed to be awake and trying to get a look of their now dead neighbor. Officers had sealed off the crime scene including the stairwell from the third floor down to the ground floor. They’d also confiscated any phone that had taken a picture in the crowd of morbid sons of bitches who were still lurking. People made him sick sometimes.

“Cohan, what’s the deal with this one?”

Glancing up, Lauren Cohan blew a strand of hair from her eyes. “He’s dead.”

“I can see that, smart-ass.” He growled.

Pushing to her feet, she let the sheet fall over what was left of Olsson’s face. “He wasn’t killed that long ago. I’d estimate between one to two hours. The weapon was a knife with a razor sharp edge. Possibly the same knife used to skin the previous victims. I’ll have more details once I get him on the table.”

Shaking his head, he released a frustrated breath as he met his partner’s gaze. “What the hell were you doing here, James?”

Stuart knew he was in deep shit with Fuller. His partner never used his first name unless the shit was hitting the fan. It reminded him of a parent who was furious with a wayward child, but he wasn’t a child. He was a grown ass man and sometimes Fuller needed reminded of that.

“I had a few follow up questions for Mr. Olsson.” 

“And it couldn’t have waited until the morning?” Fuller folded his arms across his chest.

The look Fuller aimed in his direction pissed him off. “Damn it, Kurt, I’m not a kid anymore. I haven’t been in a long fucking time. It was along my way home and I didn’t think for a second I was going to walk in on this.” He pointed at the dead man with a look of utter disgust.

“You do realize what this means—right?”

Stuart swallowed hard as he turned away. “It means the Hunter thought Ty Olsson knew more than he needed to know. It also means we need to find that damned woman Devon before someone else is murdered.” 

 

By the time Jensen and Jared reached the hospital, Misha was in a tailspin that had both the doctor and Osric guarding the door to his room. From behind the door, they could hear Misha ranting although the words were unclear.

“Who is he talking to?” Jensen demanded.

Osric cleared his throat, “No one. There is no one in there.”

“You must be Osric.”

The young man nodded. “Yeah, I am,” he glanced at the doctor who stood nearby watching the exchange in silence. “And this is…”

“Dr. Martinez…Benito Martinez,” The doctor stepped forward offering his hand to Jensen. “And you must be Mr. Collins’ partner Jensen.”

“Yes, I am.”

Dr. Martinez gave a warning glance in the direction of Osric who backed away, flush of embarrassment coloring his face. “We would have notified you as soon as we established you as Mr. Collins’ emergency contact.”

Brow creasing Jensen snorted. “And when would that have been?”

“You have to understand how things work with HIPPA. There are certain rules…”

“Really could care less. I know my partner carries a card and he never goes anywhere without his wallet. You should have notified me almost immediately, but I get it…I do. Trauma center, overworked, and dealing with shit,” He paused, eyes focused on the closed door. “The question is what the hell is going on behind that door?” 

The weight of Jared’s hand on his shoulder drew his attention from the door. As he met Jared’s eyes, he felt as if his heart had leapt into his throat. There was something in Jared’s expression, something that had his gut twisting in a knot. The others seemed to sense it as well, none of them daring to speak.

“What’s happened?” he asked beneath his breath.

Jared shook his head. “Go to Misha and find out what message the son of a bitch left.”

He grabbed Jared’s hands refusing to walk away just yet. He knew Jared had seen something. Too damn many people here wouldn’t understand though. “Fine…I’ll go.”

Fingers slipping apart, Jensen pulled away and turned, pushing open the door.

 

Devon stood in the shadows across the street watching as they loaded Ty’s body into the ambulance, tears staining wind burned cheeks. He’d been the closest to a friend she’d had in longer than she could remember and she’d gotten him killed. She should have never told him about Christopher. If she hadn’t opened her mouth, he’d still be alive. 

Swiping away tears, she turned from the chaos and began walking. She had to end this. The insanity had gone on for far too long. For ten years she’d ran from city to city, state to state, crisscrossing the country in an attempt to escape Christopher. No matter what she did he’d always found her and left a trail of bodies in his wake as proof.

There was only way to stop him...one way to stop the killing.

 

Misha stood at the window staring out into the darkness of the Bostonian night. He’d fought so hard to become the best at what he did and somewhere along the way, he’d strayed from the path. He’d lost everything and running had only led him back into the shadows he’d been running from in the first place. It was a neverending battle to forgiveness because there was no forgetting what he’d done. Now this sick fuck had brought the guilt he’d tried to bury back to the surface.

“Misha, are you okay?”

Concern was obvious in Jensen’s voice. It was a concern he deserved no part of or so he’d been telling himself from the moment he’d met the man. From the moment, the ex-officer of the LAPD had stepped through his office he’d known it wouldn’t end well. He knew he would spill his guts when he looked into those intense eyes.

“Haven’t been okay in a long time,” He looked down at what he held. “Haven’t been right since…” he let the silence speak for him.

“We all make mistakes. None of us are flawless.”

He turned from the window and met Jensen’s steel gaze. “He knows about Vickie.” 

“Does he?” Jensen moved closer. “Or is he fucking with you like he fucked with me?”

Raw, painful laughter ripped from Misha’s throat as he dropped to the floor, legs folding beneath him. God he wanted Jensen to be right, but he knew the bastard had done his homework. What he didn’t know was what he wanted from either of them.

When the laughter ended, he looked up through blurry eyes to focus on Jensen kneeling in front of him. He tried to smile, to ease the tension he saw in the creases around his partner and friend’s eyes, yet he couldn’t. He wanted so bad to tell Jensen they would stop this monster who’d invaded their private lives, but it would only be hollow, empty promises.

Jensen reached out, fingers forcing his chin up when his head dropped. “What was the message?”

Blinking away tears, Misha lifted one shaking hand to offer the card he’d crushed. Without a word, Jensen accepted and tried to smooth it out best he could. His brows drew together in a confused frown as he read the black block letters.

“The answer is yes.” Misha whispered.

Jensen looked up at his reply, “Yes, what?”

“Yes, I would kill to save a life. I have killed to save a life.”

“And so have I, Misha, but why would he ask?”

Clearing his throat, Misha final managed a half-assed smile, yet there was nothing happy about it in the least. “I think…I know this sounds crazy.”

“Spit it out.”

“He wants us to do what he can’t.”

Jensen’s eyebrow lifted in curiosity. “What can we do that he can’t do?”

“Kill him.”

 

Outside in the hall, Sam paced nerves on edge. She knew the Hunter had a left a message with Misha. What she couldn’t understand was why. Until now, the sick fuck had seemed completely focused on Jensen and now…

“Sit down, please.”

Coming to a halt, she spun on her heel and met Traci’s cool stare. “Excuse me?”

“I’m sure I didn’t stutter.” Traci snorted. “I said have a seat before you wear a groove in the floor.”

Sam rubbed the bridge of her nose. If it had been anyone else telling her to set, she would have ripped their head off and shit down their neck. Traci though was a different ball of wax altogether. She was one of them…gifted and powerful. Somehow, the woman had managed to know Jared was in trouble from the other side of the country. Of course, they did have a history and perhaps that explained the connection she seemed to lack with the kid.

“Fine,” she grumbled and dropped into one of the hard plastic chairs. “But if Jensen doesn’t open that damn door soon I’m going to go in both guns blazing.”

Traci settled down in front of her in the middle of the floor. “You’ll do no such thing if you know what’s good for you.”

“Are you threatening me?”

The corner of Traci’s mouth curved up in a wicked smirk, “Nope…not at all.”

“Then what?” she huffed.

As if she were a shiny fucking bauble Traci tilted her head to the side and studied her. A shiver crept up the knobs of her spine as she fought to look away from her preternatural eye. After what seemed hours, Traci let out a huff of laughter.

“What?” Sam demanded not in the mood for games.

“You blame yourself.”

She frowned. “What the hell…?”

“I don’t think this is the appropriate time or place, Traci.”

Both women looked up at Jared as he spoke, voice velvety, yet the meaning in his words clear as quartz. There was a spark of fire in his eyes as he turned away focusing on the door.

Sam glanced at Jared perplexed. “What is it?”

“Answer your phone.”

Seconds after he spoke, her phone rang. She exchanged a bewildered glance with Traci and the other woman shrugged, smirk fading.

“It’s Fuller,” Jared offered, “…and he’s fucking pissed.”

Tapping the screen Sam cleared her throat, “Agent Smith.”

“Smith, Fuller. We’ve got a one fucked up mess.”

Hesitant she asked although she was sure she didn’t want to know. “What’s happened? Is there another victim?”

“Yes and no.”

Running an unsteady hand through her hair Sam stood and began to pace again. “It can’t be both…so what is it?”

“Ty Olsson.”

“The guy Stuart spoke to at the station this morning? What the hell did he do?”

“He was murdered and we’re damned sure it was the Hunter.”

The urge to slam the phone into wall was overpowering. Whatever this sick excuse for a human being had planned had turned on its ear when the mysterious Devon Hargrove spilled her guts to Olsson. There had to be some grain of truth in what she’d said or the bastard wouldn’t have killed Olsson. Whatever was hiding behind the door Jensen had walked through and a transcript of an interview with a dead man was all they had now. 

“Smith, are you still there?”

“Yeah, I’m here,” she growled. “How did he find Olsson?”

“We’re guessing he was watching the police station or this ghost girl Devon…maybe both.”

She groaned. “How the hell is he so fucking close to us and we’re not seeing him?”

There was a long pause and then Fuller cleared his throat. “Maybe we’re looking in the wrong place.”

A sudden thought sprang to mind, “Or the wrong person.”

 

Standing beneath the spray of the shower the Hunter began to relax, ribbons of foam washing away sweat and grime down the drain. Killing the man Olsson had been disturbing. All the others had deserved what they got, but he hadn’t…not really. Had Devon kept her fucking mouth shut Ty Olsson would have been enjoying take out right now rather than be lying on a cold slab in the morgue. It was true he’d been willing to allow the man to walk away, but the more he thought about it the more he understood he needed to teach Devon a lesson. It was a shame the lesson required Olsson to die.

Shower turned off, he stepped from the stall, reaching out and fingers curling around the towel that waited. Patting dry, he crossed the slick, colorless tile to where the full-length mirror waited as had the towel. He lifted the towel and began wiping away the condensation from its silvered surface.

By now, Jensen would be at the hospital and he had no doubt his annoying friend the profiler had figured out what the message meant. There was only one last loose thread he needed to tie up before the grand finale. He wouldn’t leave without a companion.

Head lifting he stared into the mirror. Sometimes the worst thing in the world was not being alone or discovering you’d become twisted by what the world had offered. Quite often, the greatest fear was failing to recognize your own reflection.

Grasping the frame of the mirror, he slammed his head into the glass until the reflection faded to nothing more than crimson shards. His laughter filling the room as droplets of blood bloomed on the tile as if liquid roses on a blank canvas.


	21. Chapter 21

Jared stared at the door trying to forget the images he’d seen. He tried to forget how he could have known Detective Fuller was calling Sam as well. Forgetting wasn’t his strong suite…it never had been. It was a miracle that beneath the onslaught his sanity hadn’t fled long ago. He knew he was broken, he understood that implicitly, but he wasn’t lost…Not yet. 

“Jared?”

“Ty’s dead—isn’t he?”

He heard—no felt—the sadness in Traci’s voice. “He was your friend.”

“Why?” He gave voice to the constricting pain in his chest. “Was it because of this?”

She understood what he was saying, but she couldn’t give him an honest answer. Jared had gotten inside the Hunter’s head, had witnessed shit she was sure even she couldn’t have survived, and yet there was no way anyone could know if the bastard had seen into Jared’s mind. She leaned into his body cheek pressed to his spine, and closed her eyes listening to the calm beat of his heart.

“I wish I knew, Jared.”

He sighed. “I know you do.”

They stood like that for some time. His forehead pressed against the door and her arms draped around his waist, neither speaking. Whatever was going on beyond the door was far more important than any further discussion in Jared’s mind. As she let her breathing sync with his pulse, something began to happen Traci had never experienced.

Images flipped through her mind, intimate private moments. Her throat tightened, breath speeding up, and the burn of tears tickled the back of her clenched eyelids. They weren’t Jared’s memories, she understood that on some primitive level, but she also knew she was seeing them through him somehow. The only way she could think to describe it was that he was the antenna and she was the television.

There was a man touching a young girl, touching her in a way no man should.

Flames like the summer sun shooting skyward from the underbelly of a car.

Then the girl again, yet this time older, almost a woman, and standing in front of a mirror.

Her gut knotted until she felt like vomiting and her grip tightened on Jared. The desire to let go of him was crushing and yet she refused to release him. Jared was tapping into the Hunter’s mind and he was showing her what he saw. Her head began to pulse and she was sure it would explode although she logically knew that was impossible.

“Traci?”

At first, she thought the voice was inside her head, but then she felt her body lowering to the floor. It was Jared talking to her, fear evident in his voice. 

“Traci, can you hear me?”

She tried to answer him, but the words wouldn’t form. Being physically slammed into a wall was how it felt, all the air forced from her lungs in one swoop. Eyes drifting shut she tried to recall one of the lessons Loretta had taught her in the beginning.

You control the gift. It does not control you.

This was something quite different than what she’d experienced in her life. The power inside her had always been strong, but this wasn’t just her. Jared was the catalyst. He was tapping into her mind and she was damned sure he didn’t even realize it.

“Let go.” She whispered.

“What?”

She swallowed hard and forced her eyes open to look straight into his. “Let go of me.”

A moment of hesitation in his eyes and then his expression cleared of fear. Without a second thought, he let go of her hands. The result was as if a bungee cord had snapped releasing her from the weight of a million emotions and her mind went blank. Just as sudden as it had started it ceased and she sat up drawing in a desperate breath.

“What the hell was that?” Sam demanded from where she stood eyes wide in shock.

As Jared stepped back, hesitation in each move, Traci pushed up from the floor, “Insanity.” She offered voice whiskey rough. “That was…”

“Me,” Jared finally spoke.

Sam turned expression confused, “You? How in the hell was that you?”

“Because he’s an antenna…a psychic antenna,” Traci answered. “I don’t know how I missed it before.” She glanced at Jared. “When we were in the bathroom at the police station I saw it, but I didn’t understand what I was seeing. Your aura…it fluctuates.”

Jared backed away from the two women face blanching until he was ghost white. She stepped toward him and he waved her back. “Don’t,” he choked out. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You didn’t hurt me, Jared. You simply…” she paused trying to find the appropriate word. “You surprised me—that’s all.”

“But…”

She shook her head halting any argument he might start. “I wasn’t prepared. I had no idea what you were capable of doing.” She reached out and he flinched as her fingers grazed his jaw. “It’s going to be okay now, Jared. I finally understand.”

“Well, I don’t. Do you mind explaining?” Sam asked.

Traci smiled up at Jared. “There are two, but they are one.”

Frowning Sam tried to not sound frustrated. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Well, I think we’re about to find out.” Traci replied as the door opened behind them Jensen and Misha stepping out. “Isn’t that right, Jensen?”

 

Fuller sat inside Cohan’s office, one leg vibrating as he tried to relax. He’d sent his partner home to his wife and kids. He’d told him not to return until the morning and to shut his fucking phone off until then. He’d screwed his own private life up long ago. Divorced, his kids didn’t speak to him, and he sure in the hell didn’t want James to make the same mistakes he’d made.

Door swinging open, Cohan walked in still dressed in her stained scrubs, clipboard resting in the crook of her arm, and blew a loose strand of hair from her eyes. “Your killer got damned lucky with this last kill.”

“Excuse me?” He shifted in the chair as she settled behind her desk.

Leaning forward she flipped open the clipboard and slid it across the desk. “The type of wound Mr. Olsson sustained isn’t always fatal.”

“He was stabbed in the fucking eye. How can that not be fatal?” Fuller snorted.

Cohan chuckled. “Trust me. There are cases all over the world of seemingly fatal wounds that people survive going back hundreds of years. The knife wound wasn’t what killed him although it was the catalyst. The tip of the blade punctured the eyeball and hit just at the right angle to shatter the orbital socket.”

“And?”

“And a fairly substantial fragment of the bone pierced Mr. Olsson’s frontal lobe causing a massive hemorrhage. Even if your partner had discovered him sooner it’s doubtful he would have survived.”

“No chance whatsoever?” he needed to know because James had been beating himself to hell wondering if he could have saved Olsson.

She leaned back watching Fuller as he flipped through the preliminary report. “A small chance, but even then he would have sustained substantial brain damage.”

Fuller sighed. “Any chance you know for sure this was the Hunter’s work?”

“The tip of the blade broke off. Found it embedded in what was left of his eye. I’ve sent it to the lab for a comparison.”

“A comparison to what? It’s not as if the sick fuck left any forensic evidence behind before.”

Offering a smirk, Cohan cleared her throat. “Your man is getting sloppy. The last victim had metal flakes in the chest incision. I didn’t want to say anything until we were sure it was from the knife the killer used. If the lab can match those flakes to the piece of blade I removed from Olsson’s eye we can say without a doubt his killer is the Hunter.”

“Son of a bitch you little minx,” Fuller growled. “Does Smith know?”

She rolled her eyes. “As much as I despise your douche bag ways, Fuller, there was no way I was picking sides. Those women deserve justice…period.”

With a nod, he stood, “Point taken. Can you fax a copy of this report to my office?”

“Already sent it over. It should be waiting for you when you get there.”

 

Sitting in the shadows, the Hunter watched the brownstone with narrowed eyes. Jensen and his entourage should be returning shortly. The cops who were keeping watch were useless lumps of crap. It had been far easier than expected to get inside earlier. Since Jensen and the others were busy elsewhere, the cops had slacked off. Damn doughnut munchers were too fucking predictable. They always were.

The most difficult part had been the security system. Jensen Ackles was no man’s fool despite what you might say about the man, especially not after Los Angeles. He had one of the best systems available on the market. Yet even the best system had flaws. Mainly human flaws in this case though. Connecting with the right people and then greasing a palm with much needed cash always got you what you needed. 

He’d spent a full hour inside the house, noting every entrance and exit, and making notes of the things he saw. The one thing that captured his attention more than anything had nothing to do with Jensen though. It had everything to do with the man who’d helped stain him with sin, the artist from Los Angeles who Jensen had saved.

On the third floor, he’d discovered the studio and with it numerous canvases and sketches. At first, he’d refused to accept what he saw, but now…

Sitting there in the darkness, he concluded this was simply another test. Perhaps, God had decided he needed more incentive to complete his mission. The images he’d seen were of his own work. Work inspired by the truth of the spiritual. God was the only one capable of allowing Jensen’s lover to see the truth of his mission.

Only God would draw the evil into the maze and allow it to see the error of its ways. 

Mouth quirked in a crazed facsimile of a smile, he began laughing. Devon hadn’t been able to end his mission, but this one—the boy named Jared—might believe he had a chance. He might believe he was capable of knowing who he was facing, yet he would be wrong. 

Jensen didn’t have a chance against the power of God. 

Jensen belonged at his side.

Devon couldn’t save herself or her friends. God had made sure of that. And Jensen couldn’t run from his destiny either. No one could save him.

Not even the man responsible for staining Jensen’s soul with his unclean touch because only he could save Jensen. Only he deserved to touch Jensen for he was pure.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one took me longer than I wanted, but then RL and muses sometimes do not work well with one another. On the other hand it is bit longer. Finding that cut off for a chapter can be a pain in the ever loving ass.
> 
> Hope it was worth the wait. Enjoy!

The drive back to the house was crowded, uncomfortable, not to mention far too damn quiet for anyone’s taste. Sam tried to focus on the road, but her thoughts were a whirlwind of epic proportions. More than anything, she wanted to know exactly what she’d stepped in, and whether it would leave a stench that would follow her back to Quantico. 

Jensen and Jared sat hips pressed together, hands clasped, and Jared’s head resting on Jensen’s shoulder, eyes closed although Sam was certain he wasn’t asleep. In the back next to Jared was the one person she never thought she would see again, the Fates had other plans though. Once she’d cared for Misha, but now she wasn’t sure how she felt. Right now, he looked like death on toast. She wanted to say something to comfort him even knowing he hated her as much as she hated herself.

This entire thing had spun out of control into a shit storm of a nightmare. Sam had hoped after so much time Misha would have moved on. It never could be that easy though.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

She glanced at Traci who sat in the passenger seat next to her. “That’s the second time you’ve said that to me. What exactly are you talking about?”

Traci turned her eyes seeing through her as if she were glass. “We both know what that means.”

“No actually,” she looked up at the review mirror, “…I don’t.”

A faint snort reached her ears. “Lie all you want, but need you be reminded who came to whom.”

Sam turned onto Jensen’s street. Traci was stomping all over her last nerve. “Look, can we not talk about this here?”

“Sure thing, Agent Smith, but don’t think we won’t continue this conversation.”

Her lips curved in knowing smirk. “The thought never crossed my mind.”

 

Fuller sat at his desk staring at the murder board across the room, eyes blood shot, and head throbbing with the beginning of a migraine. They needed to find Devon Hargrove, she was the key to this entire thing—the murders, the bombing at the clinic, and the final death of a man who’d done nothing except be concerned for a friend. How did you find a ghost though?

“Detective Fuller, I might have found something.”

Turning he met Sargent Pellegrino’s weary expression. “What is it, Mark, its late, and I’m exhausted.”

Pellegrino stepped into the office with a look over his shoulder before shutting the door behind him. “You know the guy who came in earlier.”

“You mean the guy who’s in the morgue now?” He raised one eyebrow.

Snorting, Pellegrino rolled his eyes, “Yeah, the dead one. When he was here he left something behind.” Holding his hand up, an evidence bag dangled from his fingertips.

Fuller stood up leaning across his desk. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Yeah, it’s his cell. I was going to give him a call in the morning, but when I heard he’d been killed I bagged it instead. Maybe there’s something in it you could use.”

At this point, Fuller was desperate for any glimpse of a lead. Reaching out he accepted the evidence bag. “Pellegrino, if this is the break we need you’ve got your promotion to detective.”

 

Sam cut the engine, hands trembling and fingers ice against the keys. “Something isn’t right,” she whispered so as not to disturb the three men in the back. 

“I know.” Traci replied eyes focused on the street beyond the tinted window. “I’ve known since the hospital.”

“What the hell is going on?” she turned toward the other woman.

Traci’s eyes drifted shut. “What I said in the hospital…it makes no sense, but I do know it was the Hunter.”

“What was the Hunter?”

The two women both turned around to meet Jensen’s cold stare. “I asked a question and expect an answer,” he hissed through clenched teeth.

There were pivotal moments in every case just as there were in life and this was one of those moments. Sam knew it in her gut as she met Jensen’s eyes and refused to look away. For a split-second, she saw everything in his eyes, every emotion he held in place with memories he’d never share.

“This isn’t the place for this conversation, Jensen.” She glanced at Misha who was beginning to wake. “Let’s get in the house and then we’ll talk.”

 

They’d arrived, but it was later than he’d expected. As he watched them exit the vehicle and head for the house, he wondered if tonight were the right night. So much had happened in the past few hours and he was exhausted. He still needed to find Devon or whatever identity she chose now. It didn’t matter because she could never hide from him. When you were a part of someone, they could never hide from you.

Pulling the hood closer around his face he sat up and started the cab, hum of the engine smooth as butter, and maneuvered away from the curb. It wasn’t as if they would leave from their brownstone fortress again tonight. He knew where he could find Jensen to complete his mission.

Soon he would show the world how their descent into decadence had led to humanity’s downfall once more. He and Jensen would be the martyrs of a world gone mad. Saints sacrificed to a God the world had forgotten, a God who had almost forgotten them.

 

Once they were inside, Jensen triggered the security system shoulders slumped in exhaustion even though he knew he’d never sleep. Jared escorted Misha upstairs to their guest room leaving him with the two women who’d pissed off and impressed him in equal measure. He led the parade into the kitchen where he started a pot of coffee. 

“You have a very gifted partner.” Traci offered as she took a seat at the table with Sam.

Palms braced against the counter, he stared at the coffee maker as the water began to make its way through and fill the pot with rich, dark Columbian. He felt as if his entire body were vibrating, a static charge creeping beneath his skin. Nothing he could say at this point would make him sound like anything but a damned douche.

“So I’ve been told, but I’m starting to think we’d be better off if he weren’t gifted.”

Sam cleared her throat as she glanced at Traci. “Look, no matter what any of us think in the end Jared is who he is and there is no changing that.”

Jensen mulled over her words pulling mugs from the cabinet. It wasn’t as if he wanted to change Jared. If it weren’t for what Traci and Sam both referred to as a gift he wouldn’t have been able to connect to Jared back in California. He wouldn’t have been able to punish Robert Cortese for the sick, perverted things he’d done not only to Jared, but to other young men over the years. What had brought them together was the self-same gift.

“I didn’t mean it like that, Sam.” He growled.

“Then how did you mean it?”

They all turned to see Jared leaning in the door. He offered Jensen a faint smile before he moved across the room. Jensen’s face flushed embarrassed Jared had heard their brief conversation.

“Jay…I’m sorry.”

Jared shrugged as he poured a cup of coffee. “No need to apologize, Jen. I’ve always known this…” he paused searching for the right word. “This thing scared the shit out of you. I get it…no I do. It scares the every loving fuck out of me, too.”

In that precise instant Jensen realized there was no backing down or denying how he felt. He loved Jared and as much as what his partner was capable of his feelings hadn’t changed. A part of him, buried deeper than he cared to admit, feared for Jared’s sanity. It couldn’t be easy to witness what he’d witnessed and that was the crux of the matter. 

Since getting involved with Jared — even before, he knew he was among the living—Jensen had wanted to protect him, hell avenge him. His overdeveloped sense of right and wrong had been the biggest problem in all his relationships. He’d punished himself repeatedly for what he saw as a weakness at first. He’d felt as if God had turned his back on him, made him less by making him gay, and then he’d found a way to…

“He’s trying to redeem himself.”

Jared frowned at Jensen’s sudden outburst, “Who? Me?” 

Turning Jensen grabbed his face and kissed him with a wild laugh. “Not you…the Hunter. We’ve been chasing our tails all this time.”

“What the hell are you rambling about?” Sam demanded from across the room.

Jensen turned to her, spark of sudden understanding in his eyes. “When I realized I was gay for the first time I blamed God. Felt as if he’d turned his back on me…so I punished myself.”

“I still don’t…” Sam started.

Jared smiled. “I do…the Hunter is trying to redeem himself, but with the killings. He’s punishing what he sees as the guilty.”

Frowning, Sam rubbed between her eyebrows, “Guilty of what?”

“Sexual crimes,” Traci piped up. “The visions I saw at the hospital…this Devon she was molested by the Hunter as a child. The only thing…”

“What visions?” Jensen asked.

Sam glanced up at him. “It was what Traci and I were talking about in the car outside. Traci discovered what Jared’s gift is finally.”

Confusion flickered in Jensen’s eyes. “He’s psychic.”

“Oh, he’s way more than that,” Traci replied. “He’s an antenna…a psychic antenna. Every living being gives out energy.”

“An aura,” understanding began to sweep away the confusion.

“Yes, what some psychics can see and interpret, most of them healers. What the majority of psychics can’t do is read them the way Jared does. He’s a living, breathing antenna that can connect with, translate, and transmit the full meaning of those auras.”

Jensen began pacing, lower lip captured between his teeth in concentration, “So, what? You’re saying he tapped into the Hunter’s aura…and what?”

She stepped in front of Jensen and captured his gaze with her pale eyes. “Tap into the aura, tap into the owner of that aura, and see who they are inside their mind.”

“Jesus,” Sam whispered attention focusing on Jared. “If what you say is true then he’s capable of tracking down criminals without breaking a sweat. He could be a valuable…”

“Don’t finish that sentence if you know what’s good for you, Smith.” Jensen growled. “Jared is a human being, not a tool to be used by anyone who…”

“I’m in the damned room people!” Jared snapped.

Jensen glanced over his shoulder at Jared. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to…”

“Yeah, you did, Jen. That’s who you are. Remember our conversation at the police station?”

He remembered and he understood the point Jared was trying to make even if he didn’t want to agree with it. Maybe he was being shallow and self-centered—who the fuck knew—but he didn’t want yet another in a long parade of people using Jared.

“You’re not a tool.” He whispered, eyes lowering to study the kitchen floor.

Jared stepped closer, pulling Jensen into his arms, breathe hot against his ear. “Maybe I am a tool. Maybe this is the entire reason God or whoever gave me this power.”

“No,” he shook his head, face pressed into Jared’s chest. “You’ve been hurt enough.”

Resting his chin on Jensen’s head, he sighed. “Sometimes the only thing that keeps a person going is the pain. It keeps your mind sharp and clear.”

Jensen closed his eyes fighting back tears. He knew exactly where Jared was coming from, but none of them had the time for this. If Traci was right, the Hunter was planning his next kill. He was planning on ending him. Why the fucker wanted him dead he had no idea. Jared didn’t know the truth of the matter.

“I know.” Jared whispered beneath his breath.

Pulling away, horror etched in every line of his face, Jensen looked into Jared’s eyes. “What?”

Jared tipped his head toward Traci and Sam. “Can we have some privacy?”

Without a word, the two women left the room. In their wake an eerie silence settled, a blanket of coldness Jensen hadn’t felt in too long. He’d thought he’d left it behind, the utter stillness of being alone. And alone was how he felt even with Jared standing next to him.

“How is Misha doing?”

“Jensen,” Jared huffed in frustration. “We’re not going to do this.”

“How is he?” Jensen repeated.

Running his hands through his hair, Jared spun on his heels and grabbed Jensen. Fingers tightening he jerked him forward, forcing him to look up. “He’s fine. Tired and hurting, but he’ll live.”

“Let me go.”

“No, Jensen.” Jared’s grip grew tighter. “For once you’re going to be quiet and listen—really listen.”

“Fine,” He tried to bite back the anger in his voice, but it didn’t work.

“Misha told me what happened when he wrecked the car.”

Jensen frowned as Jared pulled back, hands dropping away. “What are you talking about?”

“He didn’t tell you.” There was genuine shock in Jared’s voice.

“Didn’t tell me what?”

“It wasn’t an accident. Someone ran right out in front of him. It was deliberate. He’s sure of it.”

Jared dropped into one of the chairs. Seconds later Jensen was setting the coffee he’d poured in front of him along with a cup of his own, and then he took the chair opposite. 

“Who the hell would do something like that?” he questioned.

Jared lifted his coffee taking a sip, “The Hunter.” 

“Why? That makes no sense.” Jensen turned staring out the kitchen window into the darkness beyond. “Why would he try to kill Misha?”

Closing his eyes, Jared focused inward. Traci had told him he was in control not the gift and he wanted to believe her. He needed to believe her. He could do this. He needed to do this not just for himself, but for Jensen.

As he sat there, Jensen’s voice became a whisper in the background, and he began to drift through the ether. He had no other word to describe what he saw. He seemed surrounded by beams of sunlight, motes of dust dancing through them, and yet…

Jared.

Her voice was sweetness to his ears.

Lindsey, help me.

What would you have of me?

I need to find them.

Find who?

The murderer they call the Hunter and the woman he’s been stalking.

Find one and you will find the other, Jared.

“Jared? Jared!”

Eyes snapping open, he met Jensen’s terrified gaze. “I heard you. No need to yell.”

“What the hell just happened?”

Jared snorted, “Nothing…I just thought maybe I could find him.”

Standing Jensen punched the wall. This shit was driving him closer to the edge of insanity with each passing day. He knew Jared wanted to stop this fucker as much as he did, but the last thing he needed was to fear for his partner’s life. He drew back his fist and slammed it into the wall again. He didn’t care the skin was splitting or that his blood was staining the wall.

“Jensen! Stop it right the fuck now!”

He turned without a thought and swung connecting with Jared’s jaw. Jared hit the ground crutch clattering against the ceramic tiled floor. By the time Jensen realized what he’d done it was too late to apologize. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Jared growled swiping at his bloody lip.

Jensen stood over him, eyes filled with determination and anger. “You need to stay out of this, Jared.”

Struggling to his feet, Jared leaned on the table, grip so tight his knuckles turned white. “It’s too fucking late. I’m so deep in this shit I’m drowning in it.”

“I don’t recall asking for your help.” Jensen spit out.

Brows furrowed, Jared dropped into his chair with a grunt. “I don’t recall asking if you cared one way or another.”

“Damn it, Jared!” Jensen turned away, fists clenched. “Whatever this sick freak wants is between me and him. You don’t have…”

“Yes, I do have something to do with this. Don’t you dare treat me like a fucking pussy! I saw what he did to those women.”

“And he delivered Molly Quinn’s fucking heart to me in a god damned box!”

Dropping his head to the table, Jared exhaled. It was impossible to get through to Jensen when he worked himself up like this. He was taking all the responsibility on his shoulders as usual. It was complete and utter horseshit.

“Don’t do this to yourself.” Jared lifted his head, tears in his eyes. “This is what the fucker wants. He wants you to go after him. He wants you to be alone so he can do what he wants to you.”

Pacing back and forth, he refused to look at Jared. If he looked, those eyes would pull him in like they had back in Los Angeles. His heart would take over when his brain should be in charge of the situation. A part of him knew Jared was right. This was exactly what the bastard wanted, but Jensen wasn’t willing to risk anyone else’s life. If Misha were right about the accident then the Hunter had already tried to get rid of him. Jensen couldn’t bear the thought of losing Jared after what had happened with Misha.

“Please, Jared, I have to do this on my own.”

“Why?” Jared demanded, “Because you’re the fucking hero?”

“No…Because I understand why he’s doing this.”

Turning away, he headed up the stairs leaving Jared to stare at his back, tears streaking his face.

 

Misha stood staring out the window, wondering if he’d done the wrong thing by telling Jared he believed the Hunter had caused his accident. He could hear the two men arguing downstairs even with the door closed. It made him nauseated the entire fucked up mess. If only Sam had stayed away. Things had been looking up, but he should have known coming back to the East Coast would be a mistake. Even after all the years and miles he’d put between himself and the past it still came back to haunt him.

“Misha, how are you feeling?”

He snorted, “Like you give a damn, Sam.”

Her heels were louder than they should have been as she crossed the room. His head pulsed with the echo of them. There was no reason he should trust her and he’d told Jensen the same when she’d showed up on their doorstep.

“I do care and you’d know that if you hadn’t blamed me for your own indiscretions.”

Turning he met her icy expression with one of his own, “My indiscretions? Last time I checked it took two to tango. You could have stopped it just like I could have.”

Sam reached out and he flinched at her touch. “Why are you acting like this?” she backed away eyes almost liquid in the dim light. “Look, I get you blame me for Vicki and your son. God knows I blame myself, but as you pointed out so eloquently…it takes two.”

Even if he tried to answer the question, he wasn’t sure the answer would make sense. Nothing had made a lick of sense since Sam had showed up. All the dark memories from then had begun to rise up as if oil on the surface of a calm sea.

“I need to talk to Jensen.” He whispered to the floor.

“What you need is to rest.” 

“Jensen needs to know what I found out.” He looked up at Sam worry etched in every line of his face. “I know when the fucker got Jensen in his sights.”

Sam frowned. “How did…”

“Spoke with Jensen’s former partner in Los Angeles.”

“Morgan—right?”

“Yeah,” he eyed her with suspicion. “How did you know his name?”

Disbelief colored her expression. “I know you haven’t worked with the FBI in years, but you know how they work. We have offices all across the country and eyes everywhere. Jensen had Morgan looking into unsolved cases out there. Apparently, Morgan poked a bit too deep for the liking of someone.”

Misha considered her words as he moved to sit on the edge of the bed. She was right even if he hated to admit it. He knew how the FBI worked and why it was necessary for them to do so. Of course, there were those civilians who would scream bloody murder over what they saw as an infringement of their personal liberties. What they didn’t understand was no matter how they viewed it everything the Bureau did was a necessary evil.

“So you’ve spoke to him.”

Crossing the room, Sam settled down next to Misha. “Yes, I have.”

“You know about Jensen’s friend?”

Focused on the floor, she sighed. “Danneel Harris?”

“Yes.” He rubbed his eyes as they began to pulse in his skull. “You know she was one of the Hunter’s victims right? You know he’s been doing this for a decade?”

All Sam could do was nod. Words could not describe how she felt about the entire mess. They should have discovered a pattern before now. All the technology, communication with local authorities, and the bastard had slipped under the radar for longer than any killer had the right to do. They’d only found him because he’d wanted to be discovered.

“How are we going to stop him, Sam?” 

She looked up to meet his desperate gaze. She’d forgotten what an intense shade of blue his eyes were or how they seemed to bore into your soul. There were more things than she could count that she’d forgotten about him—about them. What they’d had was unlike anything she’d experienced before or after. She should have known better than to get involved with a married man much less a younger agent.

“I don’t know.” She finally answered. “I just don’t know.”

 

Pacing the living room floor, Traci tried not to hear the argument going on in the kitchen. If only Jensen would give Jared a chance, they might be able to catch this sick son of a bitch. If he stayed with his plan, Jensen was marked as his next and final victim. At least there would be no further innocent women torn from their families. Yet there was no way she would allow Jensen to sacrifice himself.

She paused, a sudden chill creeping up her spine.

The only other time she’d experienced this feeling had been back in California. It had been the moment she’d known Jared needed her. In the back of the house, she heard someone run up the stairs and her gut twisted in a knot. She turned, heading back to the kitchen and the closer she got the stronger the chill. Once she’d reached the door, it felt as if she’d stepped into a deep freeze. Exhaling she watched her breath condense in the air, fog of crystalline water droplets. Something was about to happen. 

On the other side of the room, Jared sat alone at the table. There was no sign of Jensen and she was certain his absence had something to do with crimson stain on Jared’s lips. She moved across the room, concerned about the pain she saw in Jared’s eyes. 

“Jared…”

“He’s going to get himself killed.”

She sat across from Jared, leaning in to take his hand. “Don’t think like that. It’s not as if he’s alone. He has you and you have us.”

“I wish you were right.” He squeezed her hand. “But I know him better than he knows himself.”

Traci frowned. He was right even if she wished he weren’t.

A lifetime of searching gave Jared insight like no one else in their little group. Curse or gift it mattered not. Blessed by a higher power, led to the soul he belonged with. Through time, space, and Hell it had drawn him to Jensen as if a bee to a fragrant blossom. And now here they were again, facing the darkness that dogged their every step.

“What does he think he’s going to do?” she asked.

Jared’s eyes drifted shut, lashes rimmed with moisture. “He thinks he’s going to kill the son of a bitch, but he won’t. He’s too damn good at what he does. He’s been doing it for a decade.”

“No one is that fucking good.” She searched her pockets for a cigarette. “He has to have a weakness…something.”

 

The Hunter had known from the moment he’d seen Jensen he would be the one. There was something familiar and comforting in the other man’s eyes, an understanding unlike anything he’d ever experienced in his life. It was a lightning quick connection; one that bore straight to the core of the human soul.

Soon he understood Jensen would come for him. Of course, Jensen believed he was coming to destroy him, but he wasn’t going to lift a finger. They shared something few could understand; a deep spiritual belief in a higher power. They’d both lost their faith in the past and now had rediscovered it. Granted their reasons for reclamation of their faith were quite different, but those reasons did not make their connection any less binding.

They both had blood on their hands. Understanding the strength and conviction it took to end a human life was a unique aspect of humanity. Most killers took lives out of some shallow, unprincipled—and quite often selfish—reasons. He and Jensen though had killed for the least selfish reasons possible. They were both working as the mortal hands of God.

Standing at the window, he looked out across the twinkling lights of Boston, and smiled. When God had first spoke to him back in Louisiana he thought he’d gone mad. As time passed though he realized madness was all in the eye of the beholder. Science had taken humanity away from the spiritual and into a world rife with sin. God had chosen him to show humanity the way back from the darkness and into the light. He believed in the beginning it was strictly in his hands to do so, but then he’d seen Jensen and he knew.

Every warrior of God needed a second in command.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been forever (7 months) since I've posted a chapter. I'm getting so close to winding this up if only RL will simply stay away and fuck off. LOL
> 
> I hope those who have been following this are still around and I hope the wait was worth it.

Jensen was going to do the stupidest thing he’d ever done, but he was doing it for the right reason—love. He’d never thought he would find what he’d always wanted. He had though when a girl by the name of Genevieve Cortese had walked through his door back in Los Angeles.

He wanted to tell Jared too many things. So fucking much he wanted to share that he was terrified beyond reason. Fear had gripped his heart for too long and he was done being afraid. It had only allowed him to find the bottom of a bottle. He’d seen what it had done to Misha who was hanging on by a thin wire of sanity. Never far from drowning in the pain of his past and in Misha he saw his future if he didn’t let go of the fear.

Reaching the top of the stairs, he paused to catch his breath. He owed Jared an apology for the right hook. Jared was correct about him being unreasonable and wanting to know what the hell was wrong with him. Honestly, he’d asked himself the same thing more times than he cared to admit. From the moment Genevieve had walked through that door he’d known his life was about to change. 

All he knew for sure was that he needed to do this on his own. He needed to do this for Danneel. He owed her this at least.

Moving down the hall, he opened the door to the room they should be sharing. If he'd been more open, Jared would have stayed here and not opted to get a bed for his studio in the attic. He stood eyes focused on the bed, tangled covers a mass of empty shadows. He wanted more than this, he wanted happiness. 

His hand settled on the light switch inside the door as he took a deep breath. No matter what Jared wanted, he was going to deal with this on his own. After everything they’d been through he wasn’t about to let the Hunter get his claws into Jared any deeper. It was bad enough Jared had witnessed—if that was the right word—what the son of a bitch had done to those women.

Turning on the light he crossed the room to the far closet. Door opened he stepped in and pulled the string dangling above to turn on the overhead bulb. He pushed aside the hangers of clothing, one palm sliding across the wall until he hit the precise spot he was looking for and a panel slid open to reveal something even Jared didn’t realize was there. 

The room was small and narrow. It held all his weapons even those his friends had no idea he owned or knew how to use. Opening one of the many drawers lining the narrow space Jensen pulled a blade out, running the tip of his finger along the sharpened edge.

He was going to destroy this son of a bitch…Once and for all.

 

Sam headed downstairs to the kitchen. After the conversation with Misha, she wasn’t much in the mood to sleep although she needed it. Misha had eventually given in to the painkillers prescribed by the doctor. It would take far more than a handful of pills to give her any rest though. 

This killer had her wondering if maybe she needed to end her career. Two more victims since her SAC had sent her to Boston…Two more victims whose blood stained her hands. She’d blown her chance at getting Misha to work with her. Oh, he was working the case, but it was out of loyalty to Jensen and not her or the past they shared. 

As she entered the kitchen, she eyed Jared who was sitting at the table, ice pack pressed to his bruised jaw. She knew without asking Jensen had thrown the punch. She got it. She did. But what he was doing to Jared wouldn’t solve the problem. If anything, it was exasperating the situation. 

Traci turned from where she was pouring a shot of whiskey with a sarcastic grimace, “Whiskey? Or am I drinking alone?”

With a nod, Sam settled across the table from Jared. She studied him from beneath lowered lashes. He was a man and yet she could see the wounded soul of a little boy beneath. It made her heart ache. She’d given up long ago on finding a partner in life who would understand the gifts fate had bestowed on her. For Jared there was still hope though. She had to believe there was hope for at least one lost soul in this world.

“I’m not really angry at him if that’s what you think.”

She glanced up to meet Jared’s eyes, warm and filled with such love for the man who had lashed out at him. “I didn’t think that.” She replied.

“Then what were you thinking?” he snorted.

Leaning back, she exhaled eyes focused on the ceiling. “I was thinking there’s still hope.”

“Hope for what?”

She lowered her gaze to his curious expression. “For you, for him, for everything the two of you have been struggling for from the moment you met.”

With a sigh, he dropped the ice pack on the table, frowning as he wiggled his jaw. “I love him…you know. It took me forever to tell him that.”

Sam smiled. “The night we met for the first time.”

He nodded. “Yeah, our friend Jim he always told me to quit dicking around and tell him. Maybe not in those words, but he did. Jim was right. I should have told him long before we came to Boston, but I was…”

“Frightened?” she offered.

“Something like that, but not that simple.” he shrugged and turned to the window, staring out into the darkness. “We made love in a place between life and death.” He whispered.

Before Sam could ask him, Traci dropped glasses of whiskey between them. “Bottoms up!” she tossed back her own drink relishing the burn. 

Glancing between them, Traci wondered what Sam’s story was—the entire story. She knew the woman claimed to be gifted like she and Jared were, but she had yet to see what she was capable of when it came down to it. She needed to know.

“Go ahead, ask me.” Sam glanced over the rim of her glass as she sipped the whiskey. 

Dark brows drawn together, Traci contemplated Sam’s words. How did you ask a question when you were unsure what the question needed to be? She turned and headed back to where the whiskey bottle sat, refilling the glass. Staring into the amber depths she swirled the glass and searched for the words required, words that might simply send Sam into a rage fueled rant.

“What can you do?” she whispered, eyes never leaving the whiskey.

Sam knew immediately what she was asking. “Ghosts.” she replied.

“Ghosts?” glancing up before Traci could, Jared’s brow creased.

Releasing a deep breathe Sam lifted the glass in front of her and tossed back the whiskey. The burn was a welcome distraction from the question. It was a temporary relief though. Unlike many of her fellow agents, she’d learned long ago self-medication was no solution to the darkness they all eventually drowned in.

“Not to make light of this, but what exactly are you saying?” Traci spoke up. “Do you see dead people?”

Sam snorted, eyes rolling. “Fan of M. Night?”

Pouring her third shot, Traci leaned back against the counter. “Probably the best movie the self-indulgent fucker ever made to be honest.”

“Movie reviews aside…yes I do see ghosts, spirits, phantoms. Whatever you want to call them I’ve seen them for longer than I care to admit. Although, I learned early on not to tell people the truth. That is part of the reason I chose to become what I am.” She stood with a sigh and joined Traci at the counter to refill her own glass. 

Jared stared down at his own glass. “Murder victims,” It wasn’t a question, but rather a statement. “They show themselves to you because you can help bring them peace.”

Her hands began to tremble as she filled the glass. “Sometimes I can, but there have been times when no matter how hard I try…” she trailed off as she sat the bottle down.

“Sometimes,” Jared cleared his throat, “there is nothing we can do. Sometimes the darkness simply follows us our entire lives and the light can never penetrate it.”

Tossing back her drink, Sam closed her eyes relishing the burn. She hoped to God Jared was wrong even though she understood the truth wasn’t always pretty.

 

Jensen moved down the hall only pausing long enough to stick his head in the door to check on Misha, the faint sound of the conversation in the kitchen drifting up the back stairs. It looked like whatever the doctor had given Misha was going to give the man one decent night of sleep, not that one night would solve the exhaustion etched in every line of his face. 

Slipping from the room, he headed down the front stairs careful not to alert the others. He wasn’t going to drag anyone else into this. The Hunter had wanted a war and a war was what he was going to get—Come Hell or high water. From the moment he’d discovered Dani was dead he’d known what he had to do. He was going to make the fucker pay for all the pain, suffering, and death he’d spread across the country for a decade.

There was a special place in Hell for monsters like him—one of brimstone and fire.

 

Beneath the trees, hidden in shadow, the Hunter waited across the street. No doubt, he’d reeled in Jensen from the moment he’d learned the truth. Mouth curving in a wicked grin, he could barely contain the pleasure coursing through his body when he spotted the man slipping out his front door—alone—to head for his car. 

Moving through the darkness, hood lowered, the Hunter tracked Jensen down the street to where the Impala sat. Leave it up to a man like Jensen to drive something so imposing it would strike fear into the hearts of anyone else. The Hunter wasn’t impressed though. If anything, it was the perfect transport.

Careful not to allow Jensen to spot him he continued tracking until the other man reached the car. He ducked behind another vehicle and watched as Jensen unlocked the trunk. Moving with stealth of a jaguar, the Hunter moved in for the kill. 

God’s judgement was at hand.


	24. Chapter 24

Too much information to process and Jared’s head was spinning. He excused himself as his headache increased in intensity. If either woman’s curiosity was piqued neither of them questioned his brusque departure. He was grateful for their silence.

Fumbling up the stairs, he paused in the second-floor hall, leaning into the wall as he clutched his head pain flaring along his skull. If he had not known better, he would have believed someone busted him in the head with a club. The wall was the only thing holding him up as he headed for the bathroom in search of something to ease the pulse inside his head. Half way down the hall the pain hit him again, but far more intense. He collapsed to his knees screaming in agony. 

Behind him on the stairs, he heard the clatter of footsteps as Sam and Traci ran full speed toward him. It was nothing but background noise to him as he curled into a fetal position and the images began playing out against the back of his eyelids. The horror of what he was experiencing became clear with each pulse of pain.

Jensen…

It was dark, cold, and he was unable to move, but why he didn’t understand. There was the smell of exhaust and the smooth rumble of a familiar engine. 

Yet there was something far worse.

The sound of music playing, a song he recognized all too well.

Suddenly, the connection severed, the notes of the song echoing in Jared’s ears. He sat up nearly head butting Traci who was kneeling in front of him. Eyes wide with the horror of the vision he searched the hallway knowing without knowing that he wouldn’t find what he was searching for in the shadows.

“Jared, what is it?” Traci questioned, her hands cupping his face, and forcing him to look her in the eye. “What are you looking for?”

A shudder traveled through his body as he pulled away. “Jensen.” He whispered under his breath. “Where is he?”

She glanced at Sam, who stood back to the wall and face pale as fresh snow. Sam shook her head in response to Traci’s unspoken question. Neither of them had seen Jensen since he’d stormed out of the kitchen. Traci turned back to Jared who was shaking as if he were setting on a block of ice, staring at the floor as if perhaps the answer to what he was seeking could be in the dark stain of the hardwood. 

“What did you see?” Sam asked.

Jared lifted his head, bangs hiding his eyes, but not the tears that stained his face. “The bastard has him.” His voice was rough from screaming and yet there was a calmness to his tone.

“How do you know that?” Sam questioned him again.

Pushing up off the floor, Jared turned without a word and headed toward the bedroom they should have shared, but hadn’t except for one night. The two women followed him exchanging glances without speaking. He seemed to be on a mission. What that mission was neither could hazard a guess. 

Jared stopped outside the door, his trembling had ceased, but there were grief and anger etched in the way he held his body. It was as he stood there gathering his thoughts or emotions Traci realized he was no longer using his crutch. A faint smile tipped the corner of her mouth as she reached out, fingers grazing Sam’s wrist. When Sam looked at her, she nodded toward the end of the hall where Jared stood staring at the closed door. 

Eyebrows raising when she noticed the lack of crutch she glanced behind them to see the abandoned crutch on the floor. Turning back, she smiled at Traci. At last, she thought. Jared was letting go of the past and the psychological pain it represented. It was a small step, yet a step never the less.

“He’s always hidden things from me.”

They both looked up as Jared spoke. He was staring at the door as if he could open it with the power of his thoughts alone. Lifting one hand he pressed his palm to the wood, fingers spread, and tapping out a faint rhythm. 

“From the moment I woke in that bed in Sand City.” He released a frustrated breath. “I know him better than he knows himself. He hides from others in some warped attempt to protect them from the world. The problem is you can’t always protect the ones you love.”

His hand slid down the smooth wood to grip the brass knob. A few seconds passed and then he turned the knob, pushing the door open into the dark room.

 

He woke into darkness unsure of where he was or how he’d gotten there. The last clear memory he had was of opening the trunk of the Impala and then there was…nothing. Not a damn thing. 

There was one thing he was sure of though. This darkness was not due to the lack of light, but rather because his eyes were covered by a tight blindfold. As he tried to turn his head, a flash of sparks played across the inside of his eyelids, pain traveling through his temple as if a razor sharp blade. He bit the inside of his lip to silence the cry rising in his throat. 

“You’re awake.”

At the sound of the voice, Jensen jerked in surprise. Not only was he blindfolded he realized, but he was strapped down as well. He struggled for a few seconds, the bite of what felt like leather cuffs on his wrists bringing him closer to the surface.

“You.” He hissed the taste of blood on his lips.

There was a chuckle. “You must have known I would come for you eventually.”

“I did.” 

Jensen inhaled sharply. The strong scent of ammonia filled his nose and made his eyes water. He noticed there was also an echo effect in the room that made him think of a warehouse of some sort. 

“I know what you’re doing.”

“Do you?” 

“Yes.”

There was something not quite right with his captor’s voice. Maybe it wasn’t an echo inside the room he was hearing, but rather something else. There was an almost unnaturalness to the man’s tone. He listened as soft footsteps circled where he laid bound and blind. The man who he’d been hunting had turned the tables. 

“What no quips or witty comebacks?”

“What’s the point?” Jensen asked as he struggled against his bonds. “It’s not like I don’t know how this is going to end.”

The footsteps halted and a warm breath caressed his ear. He jerked again, twisting his head away from the breath. Laughter replaced the breath, quickly followed by words.

“Do you know, Jensen?”

He ground his teeth until he believed they might shatter. “Yes, I do. I’m going to kill you, you son of a bitch.”

 

Jared stood in the shadows of the room, eyes closed, and mind focused on Jensen. Keeping secrets had always been a part of his lover even before he’d truly met him. Keeping secrets was a way of life for Jensen, an addiction, a way to protect himself and those he loved. Jared had no doubt Jensen loved him, but keeping secrets from one another was what had led them here.

Mind wandering he reached out and tried to sense Jensen’s energy, his aura. This was where he’d been before he’d left. Jared knew it in his gut. This was a safe space for Jensen. A place where there was no judgement for the things he’d done in the past. He had to find him before it was too late. Nothing mattered but finding Jensen. He had to find him and when he did, he would kill the bastard who’d taken him.

Outside in the hall, Traci and Sam watched with expectant eyes. Traci was sure Jared would be able to trace Jensen’s movements, but Sam seemed unsure even after everything she’d witnessed. She was pacing in a tight circle frown creasing her brow and phone in her hand, thumb stroking the edge of it.

“Call them already.” Traci hissed under her breath.

Sam looked up frown fading. “If the Hunter has Jensen…”

“Call them,” Traci repeated. “We’re going to need them.”

 

“Death is nothing.”

Jensen lay still unmoving and unspeaking. There was no need to engage this sick fuck. Jensen had seen so much in his short life. The sickness wound as if a ribbon of sewage through the bone and blood of those like the Hunter. They were nothing more than primitive creatures that thrived on the attention they received from the horrors they visited on their fellow human beings. The Hunter was no more or less than Robert Cortese and Jensen had ended him just as he planned on ending this sick fuck.

“So, you refuse to speak to me now?”

He turned his head away from the voice still blinded by the tight material over his eyes. It had occurred to Jensen that perhaps the Hunter had covered his eyes because he might have seen him before. It was likely in fact. After all the sick shit had murdered Dani back in Los Angeles.

“Are you thinking about her?”

A shudder traveled through Jensen. It was if he could read his mind, but he didn’t believe that in the least. “I know who you are.” Jensen finally spoke.

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

There was a soft chuckle. “Everyone I’ve known thought the same thing. Your little friend Samantha Smith, she thinks she knows who I am. She couldn’t be further from the truth.”

Jensen twisted his arms, straining against his bondage. “I know you have to tie me down to get what you want.” He growled.

“And what do I want, Jensen?”

That was a simple enough question to answer. “You want to kill me.”

“Now, why would I want you dead?”

The reply surprised Jensen. It had never crossed his mind that the bastard had wanted him anything other than dead. What else could he want? Surely, nothing of the nature of what he’d claimed from his other victims. They had all been female, red heads, in their twenties, and he’d tortured them sexually before killing them and cutting out their hearts. He’d skinned them as well. Another shudder traveled through his body.

“Then what?” Jensen demanded.

“You’re my soul mate.”

 

“What the fuck is happening in this city?” Fuller paced the kitchen floor as he tried to scrub the exhaustion from his face. 

“Your guess is as good as mine.” Sam offered him a cup of coffee. “We’re not even sure what happened, but Jared is certain it was the Hunter.”

“It was.”

They both turned to see Jared leaning in the doorway, eyes hollow and red-rimmed in his face. He crossed the room to pour a cup of coffee, hands trembling.

Fuller eyed the younger man with trepidation. After Pellegrino had handed over the phone Olsson had left at the police station before he met his maker he’d given it to their Tech Supervisor Felicia Day. He knew that girl was a magician when it came to technology and he’d hoped she and her team would discover something before any more shit hit the fan. It seemed again any hopes he possessed shattered at this latest development.

“What the hell was your boyfriend thinking?” he demanded.

Jared turned toward Fuller, cup cradled in his hands. “He thought he was going to end this sick fuck. That’s what he thought.” He sipped his coffee a tremor obvious in his hands. Lowering the cup, he moved to the window, staring out into the darkness. “He did this to protect me and to avenge his friend Danneel. That’s who he is…who he’s always been.”

Fuller could have offered a million smartass comebacks but there was something in the younger man’s expression that held him back. To be honest there had been enough infighting during this case to last a million lifetimes. Sore egos aside, Fuller knew one thing, Jared loved Jensen and he understood what it was like to lose a loved one. This kid had lost enough in his short life and Fuller wasn’t about to let him lose anything else.

“So, what did you see, kid?”

Looking up, shock in his eyes, Jared offered a faint smile, “Enough.”

 

It had been a long night. Longer than most but he could see the end in sight, the light at the end of the proverbial tunnel. Now that Jensen was here, with him, where he belonged it would be simple to get what he’d always wanted and what he wanted was Devon. 

They were family—pure and simple. One and the same, a sharing of blood that no person or amount of distance could destroy. At first, he’d been amused by the hunt, but he was growing weary of the constant traveling. The only reason he hadn’t ended it sooner was Jensen. When they’d been in Los Angeles, the man had caught his eye. What he’d said before to Jensen was true. For the first time in a long time, he’d seen a connection with someone other than Devon, a familial connection.

Jensen was a man who took pride in his work. He had no problem with spilling blood when necessary and one had to admire a man of integrity. It was when he discovered Jensen was stained he’d decided he couldn’t stand by and allow such a thing. To have something so beautiful, a work of perfection, irreversibly contaminated by such a sickening twisted thing was unacceptable. His soul needed to be cleaned. Returned to the light. 

This was the plan. It had always been the plan from the moment he’d looked into Jensen’s eyes.

 

Waking to the sound of muffled voices downstairs, Misha groaned. The faint glow of the streetlights beyond the blinds seemed brighter than possible and he scrunched his face up, burying it in the blankets. It was probably the concussion, nothing to worry about considering this wasn’t his first rodeo.

He still felt like shit warmed over as he rolled away from the light and off the bed. His legs wanted to protest lifting his weight and he grabbed the bedpost to steady himself. After, watching the room spin for what seemed forever he got his footing and stumbled across the floor to the door. He paused at the door flinching at the pain radiating through his ribs. It was probably not a good idea to be out of bed and he knew Sam would give him shit for it, but he needed to speak with Jensen.

With a little effort, he managed the door and headed for the staircase. As he got closer, he could make out the voices clearer than before. There was Sam, Jared, and Fuller. What the fuck was Fuller doing here? And why hadn’t he heard Jensen? 

Working his way down the stairs, gripping tight as iron on the bannister he focused on what they said and he didn’t like it.

“I checked,” Sam sounded pissed. “You were right, the car was gone. The son of a bitch was here. He knew we were here and he used Jensen’s car to take him out of here.”

“Give me a sec. I’ll get an APB out on his car. Not that I think we’ll get any hits. That monster of a car stands out like a fucking sore thumb.” 

That was Fuller.

“You’re right.” Jared sounded too fucking calm to Misha’s ears. “He’d want to get off the streets as soon as possible. He won’t ditch the Impala though. He’s obsessed with Jensen and that car is a part of Jensen just like his arm or leg.”

Sam cleared her throat. “Then he must have a secure location to store the car. Can you tap in? Did you get anything upstairs?”

There was a sudden crash. What sounded like ceramic or glass hitting a floor or wall.

“I’m not a fucking computer!”

Jared wasn’t calm now. There was fury in his voice Misha had never heard in all the time he’d known the kid. Sam had a habit of doing that to the calmest of people. She could get under your skin like an itch you could never scratch enough.

“That wasn’t what I…”

“It’s exactly what you meant!” Jared cut her off mid-sentence. “Jensen was right about you. God, I don’t fucking need this.”

“Misha, what are you doing out of bed.”

He nearly lost his balance at the whisper behind him. Turning, he met Traci’s concerned gaze and flushed in embarrassment at how weak she must think he was.

“What happened?” he demanded under his breath. “Where the hell is Jensen?”

She lowered to the stairs, eyes focused anywhere besides on him. “Misha…”

“Don’t.” he hissed. “I need to know what the hell is going on.”

She looked up with a deep breath. “The Hunter…he’s got Jensen.”

Misha came close to collapsing. “Damn it…how?”

“He was watching us…” she shook her head, “He was watching us all along.”

Dropping to the stairs, Misha scrubbed at his face. He’d fucked up. He’d been poking around in the past when he should have been paying attention to the present. If the fucker had been watching as they thought he’d been doing so for some time. From what Detective Morgan had told him he imagined the son of a bitch had been tracking Jensen since Los Angeles. He didn’t understand why though. Why Jensen? Of all the people in the fucking world why him?

Had the Hunter killed Danneel Harris because she’d been with Jensen? Or was it just a coincidence that Danneel and Jensen knew one another?

“Do you believe in coincidences?” he asked.

Traci blew a strand of hair from her eyes, arms folding over her chest in a clear defensive gesture. “Why do you ask?”

“Do you?”

“No.”

“Neither do I.”

 

Standing on the balcony, Devon stared out at the lights of Boston, cigarette dangling from between trembling lips. Everything she touched turned to shit it had been that way from the day she was born. A part of her wondered if some souls were just born into this world to suffer.

Ten years of running from that bastard, ten years of identity changes and she was never more than a few steps ahead of him. He was always there, watching and waiting in the shadows to destroy even the tiniest sliver of happiness she managed. From the moment Christopher had entered her life she’d felt nothing except pure, unadulterated terror. A gut wrenching agony no one could come close to understanding except…

She took a deep drag, smoke burning her throat and lungs pulling her back into the here and now from the past. Sooner or later, she had to stop running. She had no other choice, not after this long and her past still sticking to her heels like a discarded piece of gum. There was only one way to shake the son of a bitch. 

Exhaling she watched as the smoke spiraled off into the chill autumn air, ribbons of silver on the darkness of the night. She dropped the cigarette to the ground and turned, crushing the glowing ember beneath her heel. She was finished.

It was time for the hunted to become the hunter.


	25. Chapter 25

Hours, minutes, behind the blindfold, it could have been either, but what Jensen did know was something wasn’t right. An internal voice that sounded too damn much like Jim grunted in the back of his head with that gruff no nonsense tone.

Really, boy? Something not right? I would say so you idgit! This fucker has you trussed up like a hog ready for the slaughter. 

Jensen snorted. There was more to it than that he just couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Of course, he had things that were more important on his agenda. Mainly how the fuck he was going to get out of this situation then he’d be able to focus on the smaller details. His wrists hurt like a son of a bitch, but his head hurt worse. It wouldn’t be a surprise if he had a concussion or worse. What had the bastard hit him with—a goddamn tire iron? No, he wouldn’t have wanted to damage his prize. Maybe a baton like police carried. Why the fuck it mattered he didn’t know, but it did.

The entire abduction thing made absolutely no sense. Why grab him on the street, outside his house, where any one could have been a witness. The Hunter wasn’t that stupid or that damn sloppy. From the get go Jensen had seen the attention he’d paid to detail. He was a murderous sociopath, but he wasn’t an idiot. He’d worked his way up to the detailed pieces of bloody art he’d left scattered through the streets of Boston. Jensen had no doubt that’s what the Hunter considered his victims—art. 

Taking a deep breath, he relaxed his body and closed his eyes behind the blindfold. When he’d been a cop, he’d learned one important thing from his partner Morgan. It’s never simply what you see with your eyes. There were multiple senses scent, hearing, taste, touch and even more if you were aware of them. You simply had to let go of any preconceived notions, go with the flow so to speak.

Now was as good of a time as any to put Morgan’s theories to the test. If he survived, he owed the bastard a full-blown surf and turf meal and all the whiskey he could drink.

 

Standing at the kitchen window, Sam kept an eye on Jared as he watched the sun begin to rise in the brownstone’s back yard. The kid was right she was an utter cunt and she knew it. She’d had to be to rise in the ranks at the Bureau. Most people would have thought it was because of the men, but that was as far from the truth as anyone could get. The hardcore infighting was usually with the other women. Men had a problem with you they generally told you to your face, women though…well sometimes it could get downright nasty. People didn’t give women their due when it came to the world. On occasion though it became clear just how hardcore women were.

“He’ll be fine.”

She let out a bitter laugh at Fuller’s words. “Since when are you backing me up?”

“Since never,” he snorted as she turned from the window. “I just hate Feds and their usual uppity bullshit attitudes.”

Raising an eyebrow, she leaned against the window frame. “And what about my attitude?”

“Bullshit all the way.” He shrugged with a laugh. “Uppity even, but I can deal.”

Glancing down at the floor, she picked at one ragged cuticle. “Where’s your partner?”

“Lurking over tech support’s shoulder while they see if they can get anything off Olsson’s phone. He’s could with that sort of shit. Besides it keeps him out of the line of fire.”

Sam chuckled. “Dare I think that’s a fuck given by you about someone?”

“Take it for whatever you want. James has other commitments outside of this fucked up excuse for a career.”

“Wife?”

“Yep.”

“Kids?”

“Yep.”

Silence descended, not exactly a comfortable one, but at least one of mutual respect. They were far more alike than either of them would have cared to admit. No attachments to speak of and their jobs the core of their lives. It wasn’t a pretty existence, but it was what it was. In the end, someone had to do the dirty work.

She just prayed Jensen wasn’t going to be the next dirty job.

 

Eastward the sun backlit the buildings of downtown with gold, leaving them to stretch their shadows in long stripes over the city. Even this far in Jared swore he could hear the faint clang of the buoys in the harbor, but it might simply be his imagination. This place was so different from the places he’d been born to run from. First Texas and then northwest to California until he’d found his way to Los Angeles. 

The colors of dawn blurred as tears welled in his eyes, cool morning breeze doing little to ease the angry heat in his face. He’d overreacted. He knew that. Sam was only trying to help and he’d blown a gasket. She had no way of knowing how this gift—hell, curse—made him feel though. It had haunted him since he was a child. It had ultimately been the reason his father had turned him out and disowned him. The reason he’d ended up on the street working as a whore for Fred Lehne.

A shudder traveled through him, needles of ice along his spine. He hadn’t thought of Lehne in years. Forced to service monsters under the watchful eye of the bastard. Sometimes he wondered why he’d allowed Lehne to use him like that. Perhaps, he believed he deserved it that it was some type of self-flagellation for being a monster himself. What else could he be other than a monster? Only a monster could do the things he was capable of doing.

Turning back, he glanced up at the house, catching a glimpse of Sam through the window as she talked with Fuller. He knew they were trying to help. He did, but if anyone were going to take down this sick son of a bitch, it was going to be the one person, the one monster who had a connection to him. They could say what they wanted about this gift. It had never brought him anything except pain and loss, but that was about to end. He would be the hero for once. He would save Jensen even if it killed him in the process.

Two fewer monsters in the world. Who would give a shit?

 

“What are you thinking?”

Misha glanced up at Traci the exhaustion and pain evident in his eyes. They’d been sitting here in the shadowed stairwell listening to Sam and Fuller talk. Talk was cheap though. God only knew what was happening to his partner at the hands of the fucker they’d been hunting. He didn’t even know where to begin. As he sat there words failing him, hands shaking, he could only think of the Hunter’s victims and what he’d done to them. His only hope was that the other victims were all women. To his knowledge there had never been any male…

“Why now?” he suddenly spoke out loud.

Traci frowned. “Why now what?”

He shifted on the stairs, wincing as his ribs protested. “Why take a male victim now? I went through everything we had going back ten years with a fine-tooth comb. The Hunter has never killed a man…so why now? Why Jensen?”

Her frown deepened. “Good question. Does Sam know?”

“Not that I’m aware of, but perhaps it’s time she and Fuller did know.”

 

Devon was at the point she didn’t give a damn if Christopher was watching or not. She’d been up at the ass crack of dawn despite the fact she hadn’t really slept as the sad excuse for a hotel bed could attest. The chill of the morning helped sharpen her mind and the cup of hot coffee she was drinking helped even more.

He’d murdered her friend in cold blood. Ty had deserved better than that. He hadn’t been a part of this. He hadn’t understood the huge shit pile he’d trod through by just befriending her in a way few had befriended her over the years. As the preacher in her local church had loved to quote when she was a child an eye for an eye. That was exactly what she planned on doing once she found his sorry ass.

Standing up, she walked away from the sidewalk café discarding the now empty cup in a nearby trash receptacle. Adjusting the hood of her jacket, she headed down the street. If anyone had looked into her eyes, they would have shuddered. There was nothing in her eyes…nothing but murder and vengeance.

 

“What are you thinking?”

Jensen jerked at the sound of his captor’s voice. He hadn’t even heard him enter the room so lost in thought he’d been. He wasn’t about to engage with him no matter what the bastard thought. Inhaling sharp through his nose he closed his eyes behind the blindfold pretending he was asleep.

“I know you’re awake, Jensen, but if you chose to keep playing possum I am okay with that.”

He could hear the man moving about, surefooted as he moved around in the space surrounding them. Straining his ears Jensen picked up the faint echo he’d had before. There was no doubt in his mind they were in a warehouse or something damn close. The ammonia smell had faded, but it was still there just beneath the surface. There was only reason to use a cleaner as strong as ammonia or bleach in such a large quantity—blood. 

“You know they’ll come for you.” There was a pause and a loud frustrated breath to his left before the Hunter continued. “They won’t find you though, but they will find something else.”

Jensen slowly turned his head toward the other man’s voice. “What are you playing at you son of a bitch?”

There was a deep chuckle as he began to move again. “Decided to talk? Nice to have piqued your interest at last.”

“Cut the crap you sick fuck!” Jensen snapped. 

The Hunter tutted. “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names can never hurt me.”

“We’re not on a playground.”

“Oh, but we are, Jensen. Don’t you understand yet?”

“Understand what?”

“That no matter what humanity tells itself that is exactly what life is—a playground. We never have control because control is an illusion, a fairytale we tell ourselves to make it through the day. Earth is the playground of God. He knows what he created.”

Jensen snorted in disgust. “Okay, so now I get it. You’re what…Besties with God?”

When the fist connected with Jensen’s jaw, it wasn’t surprising. Just as he suspected his captor was a Jesus freak. There were too damn many of those in the world. God save humanity from the freaks who believed they were doing his work. So much violence perpetrated in the name of God. All he could do was laugh, the taste of blood salty on his lips.

“Should have known you were one of those psychos who believe God is talking to them.”

He could hear his captor’s breathing increase. Antagonizing the bastard wasn’t the brightest idea considering what he was capable of, but Jensen gave zero fucks right now. He’d be damned to Hell (and more than likely was) if he sat here and listened to this bullshit. He’d rather die than even see for one split-second any common ground between them.

“This is his doing.”

Jensen jerked his head to the side at the faint whisper. “What?”

There was sudden warm breathe at his ear. “That slut who claims he loves you—it’s his fault. He’s twisted your mind, manipulated you into committing atrocities against God, and tried to damn your eternal soul to Hell.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Jensen growled under his breath.

“That demon in the seductive body of a man.”

That was when Jensen realized he wasn’t the only one in danger. This crazed sociopath had his sights set on someone else.

“Don’t you fucking touch him you sick fucker!” 

Laughter echoed through the room, bouncing off the ceiling and walls. “I won’t have to touch him. He’ll come to us…to me. That’s part of the reason why you’re here.”

“Oh, God…” Jensen tasted bile rise in the back of his throat.

“Funny that you would call his name now—isn’t?”

He felt as if he were about the vomit. Now he understood what the Hunter had meant when he’d said they would come looking for him, but find something else. He was using him as bait not to draw in the police, but to lure Jared to him.


End file.
